day, and reminded the girl of that on which she first met Auguste. Her
toilet was soon made; she wore a new dress and her daintiest cap--the
one in which, on Sundays, she turned the heads of all the young men in
the village, and drove the girls to despair. But would that pretty cap
have the same power in Paris? Denise had no desire to make conquests;
there was but one person whom she wished to please, although she said to
herself a hundred times a day:
"No, no! I am not in love with him."
Coco was dressed very neatly. Mère Fourcy gave them the basket, saying:
"Give him my compliments, and tell him to think of me when he eats the
chickens, and to tell me how he likes that cake!"
Denise and Coco ran, for fear of missing the stage; at last they were
safely inside, the basket between Denise's legs, and they started for
Paris.
It was not a long journey; but it seemed endless to Denise; whereas the
child, delighted to be in the stage, wished that they might never
arrive. However, they reached the stage office on Rue Saint-Martin in
due course, and Denise, taking the basket on her arm, took Coco by the
hand, and having inquired the way to Rue Saint-Georges, started in the
direction of the Chaussée-d'Antin.
Denise's beauty and her peasant costume attracted more than one
compliment on the way; but the girl quickened her pace without
replying, although the basket was very heavy and Coco began to be
fatigued by walking on the pavements.
When one is unfamiliar with a place, one is likely to walk farther than
is necessary. Denise many times mistook one street for another; she
disliked to inquire, because they to whom she applied seemed inclined to
offer her their arms. She was warm and perspiring, and Coco was cross
and kept saying:
"Where's my kind friend, I'd like to know?"
They had been walking more than an hour when they found themselves at
last on Rue Saint-Georges.
"Here we are, Coco," said Denise, joyously; "here's Monsieur Auguste's
house, and you'll soon have a chance to embrace your kind friend! He'll
be glad to see you. Oh, yes! I'm sure he'll give us a warm welcome."
The child forgot his fatigue. They passed under the porte cochère, and
Denise looked about in embarrassment. She could not control her emotion,
and she halted with the child and her basket between two handsome
stairways, uncertain which way to turn; while Coco began to cry at the
top of his voice:
"My kind friend, we've brought you some cake and some fruit!"
"Vat's all this how-d'ye-do?" said Schtrack, opening his door and
glaring at the young woman and the child, who were standing in the
middle of the courtyard. "I say, my girl, haf you come here to sell
geese?"
Denise blushed, and stammered as she looked at Schtrack:
"Which way shall I go up, monsieur?"
"You mustn't go up at all, sacretié! This is not ein boultry market. Go
outside und yell mit te leedle broder."
Schtrack was about to come forth to turn Denise and the child into the
street, when Bertrand came downstairs, and was thunderstruck to see the
girl.
"What! is it you, my child?--and little Coco too?"
"Yes, Monsieur Bertrand, it's us. Oh! I'm so glad to see you! he was
just going to turn us out of the house."
"What's that? you were going to turn this girl out, Schtrack?"
"Sacretié! why haf she not told me what she want? Te leedle poy, he bray
like a tonkey in the courtyard: 'Kind freund! kind freund! see the
cakes!'--Did I know his kind freund?"
"It's my fault, Monsieur Bertrand; I didn't think--I was so confused.
Can't we see Monsieur Auguste?"
"Yes, indeed," Bertrand replied with some embarrassment. "Oh, yes! you
shall see him. Come upstairs with me, Mamzelle Denise."
The girl and the child followed Bertrand, who admitted them with some
precaution into Auguste's apartment and took them at once to the small
salon, saying:
"Stay here and rest, and wait a little while."
"Has Monsieur Auguste gone out?"
"No, but he--he has company; he's busy just at this minute."
"Tell him we're here, Monsieur Bertrand, and I'll bet he'll come right
away. We won't keep him long."
"Yes, I'll tell him that. But wait; I'll be back in a minute."
Bertrand left the salon, being careful to close the door behind him.
Denise examined the fine furniture and pictures with which the room was
embellished, and Coco lay on a couch. But the moments passed and nobody
came. The girl's heart sank; she had secretly hoped that Auguste would
be glad to see her, and the lack of haste which he displayed in coming
to her, made her fear that she had flattered herself too much.
She dared not leave the room, or even open a door. Coco had fallen
asleep; the girl seated herself in a corner, refrained from making the
slightest noise, in order not to wake the child, and gazed ruefully at
the basket containing the gifts she had brought to the fine city
gentleman.
At last Bertrand returned with a dissatisfied air, and said in an
undertone:
"You are tired of waiting, aren't you? Thunder and guns! I can
understand that; but it ain't my fault, mamzelle, because my orders
before everything! I don't know anything but my orders."
"Isn't Monsieur Auguste at home?"
"Oh, yes! he's at home, but he can't see you yet, because his orders--"
"But, Monsieur Bertrand, it isn't polite not to come and speak to
people; with us, we don't leave our friends all alone like this."
"Oh! it's different in Paris, mamzelle. I know what my lieutenant
promised to do to me if I disturbed him when he's--busy; and I can't
disobey orders."
"Then we'll go away."
"Wait a little longer; perhaps it won't be very long."
At that moment they heard sounds in the reception-room, and Mademoiselle
Virginie entered the salon.
"Here I am!" she cried; "I snapped my fingers at your orders, I did!
That old villain of a Schtrack didn't want to let me come up. 'Monsir
isn't in,' he says. But I came on all the same.--I say! who's this
little farmer's wench? She's not so bad-looking! Is it on her account
that Monsieur Auguste closes his door to his friends?"
Denise stared at Virginie in amazement, while Bertrand motioned to the
latter to be quiet, saying in an irritated tone:
"It seems to me, mademoiselle, that when a concierge says that you can't
come up, you should respect his orders."
"Go to the deuce with your orders! He told me there wasn't anyone here,
and he lied, you see. Bertrand, who on earth is this rustic beauty?"
"She's a young girl from the country."
"Pardi! I can see for myself that she don't live on Rue Vivienne. What a
sly fox he is!--What is she here for? Is it her young one asleep on the
couch? The devil! he's quite a big boy already!"
"This is a most respectable young woman, mademoiselle; she came to bid
Monsieur Dalville good-day, and brought this child, that he thinks a
great deal of. There isn't the slightest harm in that."
"All right! so much the better, if there's no harm. I say! what an
amusing fellow you are, Bertrand, when you put on that severe
expression! It's a fact that the girl has a very innocent look. I'm sure
that her cap would be mighty becoming to me."
During this conversation, which was carried on in undertones, Denise
kept her eyes on the floor; she saw that Mademoiselle Virginie looked at
her a great deal, and that redoubled her embarrassment.
"Why on earth does Monsieur Dalville keep this sweet child waiting?"
said Virginie, assuming an affable air and approaching Denise.
"Because monsieur is busy and told me not to disturb him."
"Ah, yes! I understand, I comprehend! _Ask me no more!_"
Bertrand motioned to her to be silent; but she sat down beside Denise,
paying no attention to the ex-corporal.
"Have you come far, mademoiselle?"
"From Montfermeil, madame," replied Denise timidly. The word madame
seemed to flatter Virginie, who threw her head back and tried to assume
a dignified bearing, as she rejoined:
"Montfermeil? that's in the direction of Sceaux, I believe?"
"No, madame, it's near Raincy."
"Ah, yes! to be sure; I was mixed up. Is the little fellow asleep yonder
your brother?"
"No, madame, he's a poor little orphan, that Monsieur Auguste is taking
care of."
"The deuce! does Auguste do that kind of thing? That's very fine of him,
and I am glad to hear it; it gives him a higher place in my esteem.--And
you want to see Auguste, do you?"
"Yes, madame; Coco's father has just died, and I wanted to consult
Monsieur Dalville."
"What have you got in that basket?"
"Some little presents from our place--eggs and chickens, and some cake
that my aunt made herself."
"Oh! I'm awfully fond of village-made cake! Will you let me taste it, my
young village maid?"
Denise would have preferred to present the cake untouched to Auguste;
but she dared not refuse Mademoiselle Virginie, who instantly opened the
basket and broke off a big piece, which she proceeded to eat, continuing
the conversation meanwhile.
"I'm very much afraid, my dear, that you've come here for nothing."
"Why so, madame?"
"Oh! that ne'er-do-well will let you cool your heels here till to-morrow
morning."
"Who, madame?"
"Why, Auguste, to be sure! The cake is fine, and the butter delicious.
It reminds me of my childhood; I used to eat cake like this every night;
I bought it for four sous at the little shop on Boulevard Saint-Denis,
where there's always a line waiting; it's famous for this cake.--To go
back, I was saying, my dear, that Dalville is undoubtedly with some
hussy or other, and that's why we can't speak to him."
"What! do you think so, madame?"
"Oh! I'm sure of it! Do you suppose I don't know all about it?
Bertrand's embarrassment, and the concierge's orders. In fact, it's a
most surprising thing that he let you come up."
"It was Monsieur Bertrand who made him let me in; if it hadn't been for
him, I should have been sent away."
"For my part, it's all a matter of indifference to me; I look on Auguste
as my brother now. But you are pale, my child! Don't you feel well?"
"Yes, madame, I'm all right."
"How lucky you are, my child, to be virtuous, and not to know anything
about the passions! Always retain this innocence.--Bertrand, can't you
see that this cake is choking me? For heaven's sake, give me something
to drink, and this child will take something too."
"No, thank you, madame."
"Ah! the little fellow's waking up!"
Coco opened his eyes and looked about in amazement; then ran to Denise,
saying:
"Where's my kind friend?"
"Oh! I guess we shan't see him," said the girl, in a tremulous voice,
looking at the clock, which marked the quarter-past three, then turning
her eyes on Bertrand with an imploring expression, as if to urge him to
call Auguste.
"He's a pretty little fellow," said Virginie, passing her hand over
Coco's head. "I'd like to have a child like him, because a child gives
one a respectable look."
A bell rang in the next room.
"Monsieur is calling me," said Bertrand; and he hurried from the salon.
At the same moment little Tony ran rapidly downstairs to put the horse
in the cabriolet.
Denise expected every minute to see Auguste come in. Virginie was
playing with Coco. At last Denise recognized Dalville's voice, speaking
earnestly to Bertrand, and in a moment the young man entered the salon.
But he had his hat on his head, his gloves in his hand, and seemed in a
great hurry. The girl ran to meet him, with the child, taking her basket
in her hand.
"Good-afternoon, Denise! good-afternoon, my boy!" said Auguste, kissing
the child and taking no notice of Virginie. "Have you been waiting for
me? I am very sorry that I can't stay with you now."
"Monsieur, my aunt sends you her respects," said Denise, "and these
chickens, eggs, pears, and----"
"Thanks, Denise, thanks! I----"
"Pray, come, monsieur; I am waiting!" said a woman's voice impatiently
in the reception-room--a voice which strongly resembled Madame de la
Thomassinière's.
"Adieu, adieu! I will see you again," said Auguste to Denise.
And, giving her no time to reply, he hastily left the room, closing the
door behind him, and went out of the house with a young woman enveloped
in a great shawl and covered with a thick veil, who shrank out of sight
on the back seat of the cabriolet.
Denise stood perfectly still, basket in hand; but great tears rolled
from her eyes, and the basket would have dropped, had not Virginie, who
had drawn near, saved it as she caught the girl in her arms.
"Well, well! what on earth's the matter with you, my dear? On my word!
she's really crying! Mon Dieu! is she going to faint?--Bring me
something, Bertrand!--The idea of being unhappy just for a man, my dear
girl! God bless me! they ain't worth the trouble! If you knew 'em as
well as I do! I admit that Monsieur Auguste wasn't very polite, to
hardly answer you and not even thank you!--Ah! her color's coming back a
little.--It really scared me to see you like that!"
Denise took out her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and called Coco.
"Come, my dear, let's go," she said; "we must go back to the village."
"Ain't my kind friend coming with us?" said Coco, as he took Denise's
hand.
"Oh, no! he hasn't even time to speak to us. Come, Coco, let's go. We
must be at the stage office at four."
"I'll show you the way, my dear," said Virginie; "you might lose
yourself in Paris."
"I was going to offer you my arm, mamzelle," said Bertrand.
"No, thanks, Monsieur Bertrand, don't put yourself out; it isn't
necessary."
"Why not, Mamzelle Denise?"
"We'll find the way all right. As for Monsieur Auguste, tell him we
won't trouble him any more."
"You're wrong to be put out with him, Mamzelle Denise; if somebody
hadn't been waiting for him----"
"Yes, to be sure," said Virginie, "it was very polite of him: to not so
much as thank this pretty child for her present! magnificent chickens,
fine pears, and fresh eggs! Fresh eggs are so good! Will you allow me to
put three in my bag for my breakfast to-morrow?"
"As many as you please, madame," said Denise; "for I see very clearly
that Monsieur Auguste cares very little indeed for what we took so much
pleasure in bringing him."
"I tell you, my dear, that men ain't worth a pirouette," said Virginie,
putting four eggs into her reticule; then she followed Denise, who left
the room with the child, refusing Bertrand's escort.
Madame Saint-Edmond was coming upstairs with a young man at the moment
that Denise, with a heavy heart and red eyes, left Dalville's apartment,
leading Coco by the hand. Léonie was furiously angry with Auguste since
he had left her in a swoon on the landing, to go in search of Bertrand.
Having abandoned the hope of renewing her relations with him, she seized
every opportunity to annoy him. That is the way in which a woman who has
never loved always takes her revenge.
When she saw the peasant girl coming from Dalville's apartment, Madame
Saint-Edmond stopped, looked at her with a sneer, and said to her
companion:
"Ah! rather a queer rig; but she has come here to be educated, no
doubt."
"What's that, what does she say?" cried Virginie, who was following
Denise, and had overheard Léonie's last words; but the latter hurried
upstairs.
"I don't know," said Denise; "I never saw the lady before, so she
couldn't have been speaking to me."
"Oh! I know her," said Virginie, running up a few stairs and looking
after Léonie. "Oh, yes! I know her. I don't advise her to put on airs.
_We won't go to the forest again without paying for our dinner._"
But Madame Saint-Edmond had already entered her room and closed her
door. Virginie left the house with Denise, to whom she had taken a
fancy; and she fairly forced her to take her arm for the walk to the
stage office.
Denise was depressed and replied briefly to the innumerable questions
which Virginie asked her; but she was perfectly well able to carry on a
conversation all alone. When they arrived at the office, the stage was
ready to start. Virginie kissed Denise and said to her:
"Adieu, my dear! Don't be downcast like this. You're very lucky to live
in the country; it's a thousand times better than this rascally Paris!
You'll find more lovers in your village than you want. I say! is that
the stage? It's a regular little chamber-pot like the one that goes to
Saint-Denis. When I have time, I'll come and see you, and you must teach
me how to make butter. Adieu, my dear girl.--Be careful, driver, and
don't get upset; remember that you have a Love in your little pot."
Denise and Coco started for home less cheerful than when they set out.
The event often falsifies our hopes, and we find pain where we had
thought to find pleasure.
XIV
THE SCHOOL FOR PARVENUS
"Poor Denise was very downhearted when she went away," said Bertrand to
Auguste on the day following the girl's trip to Paris.
"I was very sorry indeed not to be able to talk with her any longer,"
Dalville replied; "but it wasn't my fault--that lady was waiting for
me."
"That lady! That lady might perhaps have waited a few minutes more."
"Bertrand!"
"Excuse me, lieutenant; the fact is, I was really distressed to see you
hardly speak to that girl, at whose home we were treated so hospitably.
Just remember the welcome they gave us, and how delighted they were to
see you!"
"Oh! I haven't forgotten it."
"You didn't even thank her for her present!"
"I didn't see it. But we will go to the village soon, and I will make up
for my neglect. I am to dine at Madame de la Thomassinière's to-day,
Bertrand; there will be a lot of people, and a large party in the
evening. Probably I shall not come home until morning. By the way, make
a memorandum to the effect that I have lent a hundred louis to Monsieur
le Marquis de Cligneval, who was very unlucky at cards a day or two ago,
at a house where I happened to be; he is to pay me very soon."
Bertrand did not reply; but as he went to the cash-box he muttered:
"More money that we shall never see again! He's forever lending, and no
one ever pays him back!"
Monsieur de la Thomassinière, whose fortune increased every day,
determined to celebrate his wife's birthday by a grand demonstration.
The invitations had been issued a week in advance. There was every
indication that the banquet would be the most sumptuous that the
speculator had ever given. He expected to have at his table marquises
and chevaliers who deigned to call him their friend; poets who had
promised to mention him in their works; and some old acquaintances whom
he expected to overcome by the magnificence of the festivity. Monsieur
and Madame Destival were in the last category.
Everybody was in motion in Monsieur de la Thomassinière's palatial
mansion. The upholsterers had decorated the salons, prepared the
chandeliers and candelabra. The servants flew hither and thither
carrying orders; the scullions obeyed the behests of their commander.
Three women were in attendance on madame, who had been at her toilet
since three o'clock, and it was now five. But Athalie was fickle in her
tastes: the thing that pleased her one day displeased her the next day;
she had already cast aside two caps, in which she declared that she was
hideously ugly; she lost her patience, raged, stamped, tore a superb
piece of tulle, pulled a bouquet to pieces, scolded her women, and was
on the verge of hysteria because they brought her a set of blue jewelry
when she wanted violet. At last they succeeded in pacifying her by
assuring her that her hair was arranged to perfection; she deigned to
look at herself in the mirror, scowled at first, then smiled, and said
at last:
"It is true; I look rather well."
At half-past five the guests began to arrive. Monsieur de la
Thomassinière, who was a little less insolent in his own house than in
other people's houses, went to meet the titled personages who had
condescended to do him the honor of accepting his dinner, and deigned to
bestow a smile upon those whom he had honored with an invitation.
Monsieur and Madame Destival arrived in due course. Since he had had a
negro, the business agent had adopted the habit of blinking, and
pretended to be very short-sighted. His wife was attired with an
elegance that rivalled Athalie's own; and her intelligent eyes seemed to
assume an even more malicious expression as they rested on the master
and mistress of the house.
All the guests appeared at last, Auguste among them. It was a brilliant
assemblage: women of fashion, dandies, men with decorations, filled the
salon, where Athalie did the honors, apportioning her courtesies to the
rank or wealth of their recipients. Monsieur de la Thomassinière stalked
proudly through the rooms, saying:
"This affair will make a great sensation! The marquis has promised to
mention it at court; there's a poet here, who's a newspaper man too, and
he tells me that my name will appear in an article of at least a column!
My name in an article a column long! The deuce! how popular I shall be!
When Destival can give a dinner like mine, I'll agree that he can call
himself somebody. Poor creatures! they are dying of envy, and I'm glad
of it!"
At half-past six the company repaired to the dining-room, where the
table was laid with forty covers. Monsieur Destival was seated at the
lower end, between a child of six and an old deaf gentleman. He
swallowed the affront, with a glance at his wife; and their eyes
exchanged a meaning look in which they seemed to promise themselves a
sweet revenge.
The soup had just been removed, when an uproar, evidently occasioned by
people quarrelling, arose in the adjoining room.
"What does this mean? Lafleur! Jasmin! Who dares to make a disturbance
in my house?" exclaimed Monsieur de la Thomassinière, calling his
servants. "Send away all visitors; I am not at home to anyone; if a gold
ingot should be brought to me, I wouldn't accept it now."
The servants seemed embarrassed, as if they dared not reply. Meanwhile
the noise continued, and they could distinguish a woman's voice crying:
"I will go in! I tell you I'm bound to go in!"
"Have that canaille turned out of doors, Lafleur," said Monsieur de la
Thomassinière angrily.
At that moment the dining-room door was violently thrown open, and a
woman of some sixty years, short and stout, with a good-humored face,
dressed like an orange-woman, with a round cap on her head, bounced into
the room.
"Hoity-toity!" she cried; "it'd be a pretty good one if I couldn't get
into my own son's house! What a set of donkeys them fellows be! Excuse
me, messieurs and mesdames. Where be you, Thomas? Why don't you come and
gimme a kiss, my boy? Don't you know your old mother?"
The changes of scene at the Opéra are less rapid than those that took
place in that dining-room upon Mère Thomas's entrance. Monsieur de la
Thomassinière was stupefied; it was as if he had been struck by a
thunderbolt and was unable to move a muscle or utter a word. The
resplendent Athalie turned pale, was evidently confused, and glanced at
Mère Thomas with an expression indicating that she still doubted the
truth of what she heard. On each guest's face could be read the
amazement caused by this unexpected scene, together with a touch of
irony and malicious satisfaction, which fell far short, however, of what
Destival and his wife felt at that moment.
Mère Thomas, who took no notice of the demeanor of the guests,
recognized her son among the persons seated at the table, and ran to
him, saying:
"There he is! I know him! That's him--that's my Thomas! Oh! it's him
fast enough--with his little mole under the left eye!--You ain't changed
so much, my boy.--Well, why don't you kiss me? Can't you move hand or
foot?"
As she spoke, the good woman seized her son's head and kissed him
several times. La Thomassinière made no resistance; he acted like a man
who did not know where he was, while Athalie cried:
"Mon Dieu! is it possible? Isn't this a trick she's playing on us?"
"You didn't look to see me, my boy, eh? Ah! I should say not! This is a
surprise, you see; one of your good friends, he writ to me as how it'd
do you good to see your mother, and told me I'd better try to get here
this very day, 'cos it's your wife's birthday."
At this point the guests looked at one another, trying to divine who it
was who had arranged this surprise for Monsieur de la Thomassinière; and
among those who were not responsible there were some who regretted that
it had not suggested itself to them. As for the master of the feast, he
was still too completely crushed by the blow that had been dealt him, to
attend to what his mother said; and Athalie seemed to be on the point of
swooning.