describing to you just now. I was interested in this Dalville; but my
friendship for you takes precedence of everything; that is why I
conceive it to be my duty not to conceal anything from you."
"Conceal nothing, I pray, monsieur le marquis!"
"Do you know what he said to me just now when I was leaving the salon?"
"No, I haven't any idea."
"Didn't you overhear a word?"
"Not a single word."
"Well, my dear fellow, he was asking me to lend him money."
"Asking you to lend him money?"
"Yes, my dear fellow; on my word, that did seem a little bit hasty on
his part, I admit."
"Hasty! you are very generous, monsieur le marquis! It was much worse
than that."
"In the first place, I don't know him well enough to----"
"And even if you did know him very well--whoever heard of lending money
to a man who is ruined, and who has just told you so?--I know him better
than you do, and I wouldn't lend him."
"In the second place, it's the very worst form to borrow money at a
third person's house."
"It's shocking form!"
"As if he couldn't have come to my house like a man--or waited till
another time! But no--he attacks me in your salon! I had to promise to
make him a loan--otherwise he wouldn't have let me go."
"That is true, I noticed that; and yet you had told him that a truffled
turkey was awaiting you, and it seems to me that such a consideration
should have imposed silence on him."
"You must realize that if he sets about borrowing money in this way from
everybody he meets at your house, you will be placed in a false
position, and a great many of your acquaintances will be kept away from
here; for I don't know of anything that people dread more in society
than to be asked to lend money."
"Great heaven!" cried La Thomassinière, pacing the floor excitedly.
"Why, a man like that would be a veritable scourge, worse than the
plague! I believe that I should prefer to see Madame Thomas appear!"
"I assure you, my friend, that that would do you less harm."
"Never fear, I will attend to his case. And I won't beat about the bush
either. To-morrow my concierge will receive my orders: we shall never be
at home to Monsieur Dalville. You hear--_never!_"
"Do just what you think best, my friend. I am very sorry for the young
man, for I liked him much. Still, I felt bound to let you know."
"Oh! you have done me a very great service, monsieur le marquis! A
service that I shall never forget as long as I live! Think of receiving
under my roof a man who tries to borrow money from my friends! who might
end by trying to borrow from me! Remember that he has only been ruined a
few days, and if he is borrowing already, what will he do after a little
while? Can anyone tell where it will stop?"
"I have warned you, I have done what honor demanded, and now I will go
and say a word to the turkey I have mentioned. Adieu, my friend."
"I hope that you will dine with us to-morrow, monsieur le marquis. You
will not meet Dalville in my house, I assure you."
"In that case, I will join you. You will understand that it is painful
to close one's purse to misfortune; but with the best will in the world,
one can give only what one has. Until to-morrow then, my dear La
Thomassinière."
"Your very humble servant, monsieur le marquis."
When the marquis had gone, La Thomassinière considered whether he should
return to the salon. He decided to join Dalville--indeed he considered
it his duty to begin to treat him coolly, so that the young man would
not be tempted to disregard the orders which he proposed to give to his
concierge.
Dalville had remained with Athalie. That young lady, after
compassionating the young man, and assuring him that she was grieved by
his misfortune, remembered that a new play was to be given at the
Français that evening, and she exclaimed:
"I must not fail to be there. Have you hired a box, Monsieur Auguste?"
"I no longer hire boxes, madame," was the reply; "I purchase my ticket
modestly at the box-office. Sometimes I even stand in the line, and do
not indulge myself with a seat in the resplendent orchestra."
"Stand in the line!" said Athalie; and her smile became less expansive.
"Oh! how shocking!"
A minute or two later the young coquette noticed that there were several
spots of mud on Dalville's boots.
"How is this, monsieur? You, who are always so exquisitely shod--you
must have been splashed to-day! I can hardly believe it is you."
"Still another result of my penury, madame. When I had a cabriolet, it
was a simple matter for me always to have my boots spotlessly clean; but
when one goes on foot, one must expect to be more open to criticism in
one's dress."
"What! you no longer have a cabriolet?"
"No, madame, I have mustered it out of service, as well as my groom, and
I have kept only my faithful Bertrand; for he is a friend rather than a
servant, and one doesn't part with a friend just because one is
unfortunate."
"What's that? why, what you say is very true," replied Athalie, going to
a mirror to arrange her curls. "Bless my soul! how pale I am to-day! It
frightens me! I am going to have one of my nervous attacks, I feel
sure."
It was at that moment that Monsieur de la Thomassinière entered the
salon, assuming a more self-important air, a heavier tread than usual,
and with a frown already prepared, lest his visitor should ask him for a
loan.
"Who on earth was it who desired to see you, monsieur?" queried Athalie,
still looking at herself in the mirror.
"A person who had some very important information to communicate,
madame, and who preferred not to come in, knowing that I had company;
indeed, it is a nuisance to have company all the time, and I propose to
adopt the plan of not receiving visitors when I am at home."
"Parbleu! you can do better than that, Monsieur de la Thomassinière,"
said Auguste, laughingly. "You should imitate a lady of my acquaintance,
who, when she had not put on her red paint and white paint and blue
paint--in a word, when she had not finished beautifying herself--used to
go to the door herself and say: 'I am not at home.'"
"Ha! ha! that is very good!" said Athalie; "but I feel rather
uncomfortable, and I believe that I will go and lie down."
The petite-maîtresse left the room with a slight nod to Auguste, while
La Thomassinière continued to pace the floor, frowning ominously.
"Well, Monsieur de la Thomassinière, how's business?" said the young
man, leaning back in his chair, while the parvenu seemed not to know
what to do with himself.
"Business, monsieur? Oh! you mean speculation."
"Are you still making money fast?"
"Yes, monsieur; a man ought to make money, it's a duty, it's what we
were made for."
"Parbleu! then you must teach me your secret, for I have never known how
to do anything but spend it. But I must mend my ways; I must turn my
attention to making my living, and for that purpose it seems to me that
I cannot apply to a better man than you."
La Thomassinière, convinced that Auguste was leading up to a request for
a loan, pretended that he had not heard, and said, with a glance at his
wallet:
"I lack thirty thousand francs of the amount necessary to buy some notes
that have just been offered me--a splendid chance. I know that I can
obtain that amount easily enough, that I have only to open my mouth and
mention my name; but it annoys me, because I can't endure to have
recourse to anyone, even though it is only for an hour."
Auguste was diverted by this comedy, and said after a while:
"By the way, Monsieur de la Thomassinière, how is your good mother, the
excellent Madame Thomas, whose unexpected arrival caused you so much
pleasure the last time that I dined with you?"
The parvenu blushed, bit his lips and stammered:
"She's--she's very well, monsieur; that is to say, I presume she's very
well; but since I returned from England--why,--why, of course I've had
other things to think about. And--Great heaven! it just occurs to
me--I've three letters to write to London--to noblemen who are expecting
to hear from me--thoughtless creature that I am! I cannot stay with you
any longer, Monsieur Dalville; my business calls me away--and business
before everything."
With that, La Thomassinière abruptly left the salon, without saluting
Auguste, whom he left there alone.
"The stupid ass!" said Dalville, as he took his hat; "does he suppose
that I didn't notice the change in his manner as soon as he knew that I
was a ruined man? And Athalie! I thought that she had more feeling! But
what can one expect from a woman to whom dress and pleasure are
everything? And such is this 'society,' where everyone seeks to shine,
whose suffrage is eagerly sought, and in which we pass a great part of
our lives! Are all these people worth the trouble of wasting a regret on
them, I wonder?"
And Dalville left La Thomassinière's house, vowing that he would never
go there again.
XVII
THE FIFTH FLOOR
"Lieutenant," said Bertrand to Dalville, one morning, "we have forgotten
something in our reformation, but the approach of rent-day reminds me of
it: it's the matter of lodgings. You must agree, lieutenant, that a
fifteen-hundred franc suite is rather too heavy for our budget, in which
the expense account is always lengthening, while the receipt account is
a blank page."
"You are right, Bertrand, we must give notice."
"When I mentioned the subject to Schtrack yesterday, he told me that
there's an Englishman who will take the apartments at any time if we
want to leave them; it seems to me, lieutenant, that it would be the
wisest plan to move right away."
"Do what you choose, Bertrand."
"Especially as there's a small bachelor's apartment on the fifth floor,
that might suit us: two rooms and a large dressing-room. It's vacant,
and if it won't be unpleasant for you to stay in this house----"
"Why should it? Have I any reason to blush because of my changed
fortune? I am the dupe of villains, but I have made no dupes. We will go
up four flights. Hire the bachelor's apartment."
"Very good, lieutenant. We will be all settled there to-morrow. No
wagons to pay for moving--that's another saving."
Bertrand was well pleased to stay in the house with his friend Schtrack;
and the next morning, as soon as Dalville had gone out, he and the
concierge carried the furniture from the first floor to the fifth. But
as two small rooms would not contain the furniture that filled six large
ones, he left in the old apartment all that he considered superfluous,
and the new tenant purchased it, the proceeds serving to restock
Bertrand's cash-box at an opportune moment.
On returning home, Auguste, from long habit, stopped on the first floor.
He rang, and waited in vain for Bertrand to admit him; then he
remembered that he no longer lived there, and went on upstairs; but, in
spite of himself, a sigh escaped him as he left his former apartment
behind; and when he entered his new abode, the cramped space and the
prospect of roofs from all the windows, extorted another sigh from his
breast. We are men before we are philosophers, and the knowledge that we
owe to the arguments of reason does not win an easy victory over our
natural inclinations.
However, Auguste did his best to smile when Bertrand said to him:
"We shall be very comfortable here, lieutenant; shan't we? The rooms are
small, but we have everything under our hand. And what's the use of
having so many useless rooms? For, now that we're not rich any more,
almost nobody comes to see us. If we want to exercise, we can go out.
But the air's better here than it is on the first floor. And the view!
Why, we overlook all the houses round."
"Yes, this is all that we need," Dalville replied; and Bertrand,
observing that his master's smile was a little forced, made haste to
add:
"I have already noticed, at that window in the roof over there, a very
good-looking young girl."
"Where? where?" cried Auguste, running to the window.
"See, close by us, where the window is open. We can look right into her
room, which is very convenient. And there's the girl I saw just now. She
has evidently noticed that she has a new neighbor, and she isn't sorry
to be looked at."
"She is really very good-looking: a good figure, and a saucy expression,
eh, Bertrand?"
"So it seems to me, lieutenant."
"She's working with a frame; she must be a lace-maker."
"Oh! you can hardly expect to find duchesses living in chambers under
the eaves."
"Somebody's opening a window just beyond her--do you see--where there
are clothes hanging on a line?"
"Yes, lieutenant."
"Oh! what a lovely blonde, Bertrand! Do you see her?"
"I can't see so well as you, but I should say that she's young, too."
"She is lovely, I give you my word; much more so, in fact, than the
first one, who is still looking at us. Gad! Bertrand, we shall do
excellently well here, and I like the rooms very much."
"They're very nice, aren't they, lieutenant?"
"The view alone is enough for me; I couldn't see all these sweet
creatures from downstairs, could I?"
"It would have been rather hard."
"I am delighted to live on the fifth floor."
"And I'm overjoyed to have you satisfied, lieutenant."
Bertrand rubbed his hands, because he had restored Auguste's good
spirits by flattering his weakness; and Auguste, whom the sight of all
those roofs had depressed at first, could not tear himself away from his
window, because from it he could look into the rooms of his two charming
neighbors.
The one with the mischievous eye and free-and-easy manner did not keep
her eyes fixed on her frame, but glanced often at the young dandy who
had taken up his abode under the eaves. Although in less affluent
circumstances, Auguste had made no change in his dress; for the dress of
a man of fashion never changes, whether his income is larger or smaller.
Moreover, Auguste was a very good-looking fellow, with distinguished
manners, and that fact seemed to arouse the young working girl's
curiosity, for she had not always such good company opposite her.
The young woman soon laid aside her work altogether; she walked about
her room, arranged her bureau drawers, lighted her fire, looked at
herself in the mirror, adjusted her neckerchief and prepared her dinner;
each of her actions being accompanied by a glance at the opposite
window. Auguste, who saw all that went on in her room, kept at his post,
saying from time to time:
"Upon my word, Bertrand, it's very amusing to live on the fifth floor."
He looked also at the window where he had seen a pretty blonde; but she
had simply taken in some of the linen that was drying, then closed the
window without glancing at her neighbors.
Meanwhile, it had grown dark and the dinner hour had arrived. Auguste
left his window and went blithely down the five flights. He returned
home earlier than usual that evening and opened his window, although it
was midwinter. He saw that there was a light in both of his neighbors'
rooms. The lace-maker had little curtains that covered only the lower
sash; and as her window was on a lower level than Dalville's, he could
look over the little curtains into the room, which was brightly lighted,
and see the girl going to and fro between the mirror and the fireplace,
and apparently engrossed by her little cap, and a saucepan that was on
the fire.
"For heaven's sake, doesn't that girl think about anything but her
cooking?" said Auguste to himself; "this afternoon she was getting her
dinner, and now I suppose she's getting her supper. There seems to be no
lack of appetite under the eaves. True, Bertrand did tell me that the
air was sharper. Ah! now she's going back to her mirror. She is a flirt,
I noticed that this afternoon; her hair is dressed with more care than
it was. Can she be expecting company? Why not? Isn't one at liberty to
enjoy oneself in an attic as well as elsewhere? Are the rich alone
privileged to receive their friends? Their friends! what do I say? One
is much more likely to receive them on the fifth floor; and flatterers
and parasites and parvenus don't disturb one here. It really is most
delightful to room on the fifth floor.--Ah! what do I see?"
Auguste saw the young lace-maker, who, after adjusting her cap to her
satisfaction, removed her jacket and short skirt, and donned a white
chemise; while the young man, his eyes glued upon her little room,
exclaimed excitedly:
"Very pretty! very pretty, on my word! I never saw anything better on
the first floor! Ah! this apartment of mine is beyond price!"
Her toilet completed, the young woman set out her supper on a small
table; she laid two covers.
"The deuce!" muttered Auguste; "the company that she expects consists of
but one person; the party will be no larger than those in the private
rooms at the Tournebride. But no matter! let us wait and see what
happens."
A young man in a blouse and otter-skin cap arrived and was received with
a joyful exclamation, to which he replied by a kiss so heartily bestowed
that Dalville fancied that he heard the report; and he scratched his
ear, muttering:
"The devil! the devil! shall I keep on looking? Why not? I shall at
least know what to expect."
The supper was on the table; but the gallant in the otter-skin cap had
more love than appetite. He continued to snatch kisses, dallying the
while with the girl, whom he seemed inclined to lead away from the table
rather than toward it.
"The deuce!" said Auguste, "it's evident that people make love under the
eaves no less than on first floors. This fellow in a jacket seems to
know as much about it as the most skilful boudoir seducer. The deuce!
the deuce!"
And Auguste finally left the window in a pet, exclaiming:
"I don't need to see any more; these young women who invite their best
friends to supper ought to have their curtains so arranged as to reach
to the top of the window."
Auguste walked about his apartment for a moment or two, but he soon made
the circuit of it. Bertrand was in bed and asleep. As he scrutinized his
new abode, Auguste noticed the absence of several articles of furniture
to which he had become accustomed, but which had not been taken up to
the fifth floor, where they had retained only what was absolutely
necessary. Dalville realized that that sacrifice was indispensable; but
his brow darkened, he threw himself into a chair, and unpleasant
thoughts assailed him. It was very late, when, in an effort to dispel
those thoughts, he returned to his window. There was no longer a light
in the young lace-maker's window, and Auguste was not sorry, for he had
seen enough in that direction. He looked toward the window where he had
seen an attractive blonde; and there, although he could see a glimmer of
light, a dilapidated curtain, torn in several places, prevented him from
looking into the room.
After looking about at the other houses nearby, thinking of _Le Diable
Boiteux_, of which that picture reminded him, Auguste, having no
Asmodeus to assist him to see what was taking place under the roofs, was
about to leave his window. Twelve o'clock had struck long before, the
most profound silence reigned in the street; the place that is
resplendent with light and movement at nine o'clock is often dark and
gloomy a few hours later.
But, as he cast a last glance at the house opposite, Auguste saw the
window opened, of which the torn curtain had prevented a view of the
interior. A not unnatural curiosity led the young man to continue to
look; and, his light having gone out, he did not turn to relight it,
although it did not occur to him that he was able thus to see without
being seen.
The room, which he could now see quite plainly, presented a melancholy
appearance: bare walls, a wretched sack of straw in one corner, a table,
and a chair or two--nothing else was to be seen in that poor abode,
where want and misfortune seemed to dwell. The room was dimly lighted by
a flickering lamp.
An elderly man was alone in the room; his dress, although shabby, was
not that of a workman; his hair was white and his face looked worn and
haggard; everything about his person and in his manner denoted an
ominous and desperate agitation.
Auguste's heart swelled with pity as he gazed at that old man; curiosity
gave place at once to profound interest, and it was a secret
apprehension that led him to follow his every movement.
After opening the window, the old man went to the back of the room,
walking with care and apparently listening. He opened softly the door of
a small dressing-room, in which Auguste caught sight of a bed. Doubtless
the bed had an occupant, for the old man stopped, and stood for some
moments gazing at the person who was sleeping there; then he wiped away
with his hand the tears that flowed from his eyes.
After a few moments he stepped forward, taking care to make no noise,
and imprinted a kiss on the brow of the person in the bed; he seemed
unable to tear himself away and to give over his silent contemplation.
He fell on his knees and raised his hands as if praying to God for the
person from whom it was so hard for him to part. Then he rose and sank
into a chair, as if overwhelmed by grief. At that moment Auguste could
distinguish nothing clearly; his eyes were filled with tears, which
rolled unnoticed down his cheeks.
But suddenly the old man, as if he had ceased to listen to aught save
his despair, sprang to his feet and ran to the window, cast a last
glance about him, and climbed out. His foot was already on the edge when
a cry of horror arose.--"Stop! stop!" Those were the only words that
Auguste was able to articulate. His own body was half out of the window;
he wished to save the unfortunate man, but was afraid to leave his post
lest he should accomplish his deadly purpose before he could go
downstairs and up again.
Auguste's cry startled the poor fellow; he stopped and turned his head
toward the little room, thinking that the tones that had gone to his
heart had come from there. His strength abandoned him, the gloomy frenzy
which impelled him gave place to weakness, to the prostration which
always succeeds paroxysms of nervous excitement. He sank into a chair, a
woman's name issued from his mouth, and his tears flowed afresh.
"I can go down," thought Auguste; "I have time enough now to go to him."
Running hurriedly to his desk, Auguste seized his wallet, then rushed
downstairs four at a time. He woke Schtrack, who opened the door for
him; then ran across the street and knocked at the door of the old man's
house. The shower of blows led the concierge to think that the house was
on fire, and that some obliging passer-by had stopped to inform him. He
rose hastily, ran to the door in his shirt, and exclaimed, still half
asleep:
"Which chimney? Where's it coming out? Has it got much headway?--Wife!
wife!--Where's the firemen?"
"Don't get excited; there's nothing wrong," said Auguste; "but I
absolutely must speak to the old man who lives on the fifth floor.
Here."
And Auguste put a hundred-sou piece in the concierge's hand and hurried
upstairs, leaving that worthy rubbing his eyes, as he stared at the coin
in his hand, and finally went out into the street to make sure that
there was no smoke to be seen anywhere.
When Auguste reached the top floor, the lamplight shining under the
ill-fitting door guided his steps.
"Who's there?" asked the old man, surprised that anyone should call at
his room so late.
"Open, in heaven's name!" Auguste replied; "it's a friend, it is one who
wishes to dry your tears."
The word "friend" seemed to confound the unfortunate man. However, he
made up his mind at last to open the door, and gazed in surprise at the
young man, whose features were entirely unknown to him, and who came at
one o'clock in the morning to offer his services. But Auguste's face was
gentle and kindly, and his eyes expressed the tenderest interest in the
old man, who allowed him to enter his bare room.
"What do you want, monsieur?" he asked in a faltering tone.
"To comfort you--to save you from despair."
"But, monsieur, who told you----"
"I saw you just now. You were on the point of carrying out a ghastly
plan."
"Ah! so it was your voice, monsieur!--Poor Anna! I thought it was
yours!--But she was asleep; she is sleeping still. Oh! monsieur, I
implore you, never let her know. And yet what am I to do here on earth,
penniless, without food? She is killing herself to support me! She
deprives herself of everything for my sake!"
The unhappy wretch, abandoning himself to his grief, did not notice that
he was raising his voice.