take your charmer to drive, but you can't find them for me, to whom you
owe them, and who am in a lamentable plight."
"I don't say that I won't find them for you, my dear fellow. Come again
in a few days; I promise to put aside all I win at cards, and it shall
be for you. Poor Dalville--on my honor, I am distressed.--This corner of
my collar won't stay in place; it's terribly annoying, it spoils all the
harmony of a costume."
Auguste left the young dandy's apartment, wondering how he could ever
have been the friend of a man whose head was as empty as his heart. He
called upon others of his debtors: some were out, some had moved. He
returned home, tired out and with little hope of faring better on the
morrow. For several days he persistently pursued them; but the majority
were not to be found or not to be seen; those whom he succeeded in
seeing never had any money, and it was impossible for him to catch young
Léon at home again. He sought fruitlessly the abode of the Marquis de
Cligneval; but one day, as he was going home, he saw monsieur le
marquis, ran after him and stopped him.
"What do you want of me?" said Monsieur de Cligneval haughtily.
"I have something to say to you, monsieur."
"I don't know you."
"You don't know me!" cried Auguste angrily, standing in front of the
marquis, who was about to walk away. His tone and the flash in his eyes
evidently refreshed Monsieur de Cligneval's memory, for he replied,
trying to smile:
"Oh! I beg pardon! a thousand pardons! It's Monsieur Dalville. I was so
engrossed--I am going out to dinner--I am late, and----"
"Monsieur, you have owed me money for a long, long time, which you
borrowed for a few days only."
"I, owe you money? Oh! you are mistaken, I assure you."
"What, monsieur?"
"I beg pardon--I paid you! I give you my word that I paid you, a long
time ago; that's why you have forgotten it."
"You dare to assert----"
"My dear sir, you confuse my debt with somebody else's; really I paid
you. Think carefully and you will remember. When you lend to a number of
people, you get them mixed and forget; it's like boston--there are
people who always ask you twice for the trick.--Adieu! au revoir! I am
going out to dine."
Monsieur de Cligneval was already far away. Auguste stood still,
petrified by his debtor's impudence; but what is one to do with a man
who denies a debt, when one has no evidence thereof? To thrash him would
be some compensation at least, but the law would put you in the wrong.
Auguste went home more depressed and dejected than ever, and, to cap the
climax of his misfortunes, fatigue and anxiety had inflamed his blood.
He was consumed by fever; he was alone, on a bag of straw, and ere long
it would be impossible for him to obtain those things which were
essential for his restoration to health.
Stretched on his bed, where he had passed the whole day, Auguste courted
sleep, which avoided his eyes. He was in pain, he breathed with
difficulty, and sounds of mirth disturbed the silence of his abode. The
person who lived below him seemed to be singing over her work; her voice
pierced the thin ceiling that separated her from the hapless invalid,
and the latter, on his bed of suffering, distinguished from time to time
a vaudeville air or the refrain of a _chansonnette_.
"Those people haven't a fever like me," he said to himself. "Oh! this is
an excellent time to be philosophical, but nature speaks louder than
philosophy."
After a sleepless night, the poor fellow, devoured by thirst, found that
he had no more water with which to satisfy it. He summoned all his
strength, left his bed, and dragged himself down to the concierge's
room; for he dared not apply to any neighbors, and moreover he was
alone, between two lofts, on his sixth floor.
"Oh! are you sick, monsieur?" cried the concierge, at sight of Auguste.
"Yes, I have been suffering greatly since yesterday."
"You must take care of yourself and not go out."
"Oh! that would be impossible!"
"Leave your key outside, monsieur; I'll come up to-night to see if you
want anything."
Auguste thanked the woman, crawled back to his garret with much
difficulty, and threw himself on his bed once more.
The concierge, like all of her class, loved to talk, and very soon all
the lodgers who stopped at her lodge knew that there was on the sixth
floor a young man with a very distinguished bearing who was probably
going to have inflammation of the lungs.
Among the persons who stopped to chat with the concierge was the singer
who lived below the sick man. This singer was no other than Virginie,
who had not succeeded in making a fortune by riotous living. Dissipation
soon banishes the hues of health, late hours circle the eyes, fatigue of
all sorts impairs beauty, and beauty was almost the sole possession of
Virginie, who, with three years added to her age, had fewer lovers than
of yore. All this was the reason why she was living in the Marais, in a
very modest fifth floor apartment; that she often passed her evenings in
working, because she no longer had some pleasure party for every
evening; and lastly, that she sang over her work, because she had
retained her voice and her cheerfulness.
Virginie had a kind heart, she had never sinned except through excess of
sensibility. There are women who have no sensibility except where
pleasure is concerned, but Virginie was still capable of sympathy with
the unfortunate. On learning that there was a young man above her who
was alone and ill, Virginie asked the concierge:
"Have you been up to see if he wanted anything?"
"I haven't been yet because I've got to watch my stew; but I'll go up
to-night."
"Well! you are a good one! Suppose the man gets sicker before then? I'll
go myself. I'm only sorry I didn't know it sooner, for I sang all last
evening, and when a person is feverish he don't like trills; but I was
in good voice! I could have sung _Armide!_ I'm going up to see my
neighbor. He's young, you say?"
"Why, yes--twenty-nine or thereabouts."
"Poor boy! perhaps he's lovesick. But no, men never lose their health
for love. I'm curious to see him; if he was old, I'd go all the same;
but a young man is always more alluring."
Virginie went upstairs, and kept on to the sixth, passing her own door
without stopping. The key was on the outside of Auguste's door.
"When a man lives in this hole," thought Virginie, "he don't eat green
peas in January." And she tapped softly on the door, saying aloud: "It's
your neighbor from downstairs, monsieur, come to ask if you want
anything."
There was no reply, so she decided to open the door noiselessly. She
entered the hovel, in comparison with which her room was a palace. She
went to the bed on which lay the sick man, whose fever had increased,
and who no longer had the strength to open his eyes. She leaned over him
and gave a little shriek when she recognized Auguste.
That shriek caused the invalid to open his eyes; he tried to give
Virginie his hand, while she threw herself upon him, kissed him again
and again, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and the next moment
drenched his face with her tears, crying:
"It is you, Auguste! it is really you! O mon Dieu! in this garret! on
this wretched bed! My poor dear! sick, alone--and I didn't know it! Poor
Auguste! and I sang last night while he was groaning here! Oh! I feel as
if I should choke! I can't say any more."
But at last Virginie realized that her tears and kisses were no longer
sufficient for the invalid, who motioned that he was consumed by thirst.
"Wait--wait, my dear," she said, "I'll give you--Great God! there's
nothing here but water! Why, that's no good--it increases the fever.
I'll go--the doctor must come right away; I'll go and fetch him. I'm
going. Don't be impatient, my friend; I won't be long; and after this
you won't be alone any more; I shan't leave you again!"
Virginie ran to the door, returned to the bed, pulled the clothes over
the sick man, arranged his head, then ran downstairs four at a time, and
arrived at the concierge's door all out of breath, saying:
"A doctor! where's there a doctor?"
"Why, there's several in the quarter. Is the gentleman sicker?"
"His address--quick!"
"A doctor's address? There's one on this street--yonder, next to the
fruit store; then there's the one that bled me; but----"
Virginie was no longer listening; she was already at the door the
concierge had pointed out. She ran up to the doctor's room and begged
him to come instantly to see a sick man, in the tone that only women can
assume when the object of their affection is involved. The doctor made
no reply but took his hat, which was much better, and followed Virginie,
who led the way to Auguste's garret. He ascended the six flights almost
as quickly as she did, and when he entered the room apparently saw
nothing but the invalid. All honor to the men who devote their lives to
relieving the ills of mankind, and who show the same zeal for the poor
as for the rich. Their number is large, and although Molière did poke
fun at the doctors, doubtless he would be the first to do them justice
to-day.
Virginie gazed anxiously at the doctor's face while he was feeling the
invalid's pulse. His eyes gave no favorable indication; while Auguste,
heedless of everything that was going on about him, seemed neither to
see nor to hear anything.
"Well, monsieur?" queried Virginie at last.
"The young man is in bad shape; he has a high fever and there is every
reason to expect that it will increase; however, with extreme care, I
hope we shall save him."
"Oh, monsieur, don't neglect anything, I beg you!"
"But he is very badly off here; the room is so small, there is so little
air, and the sun beats down so fiercely on the roofs, and makes these
garrets burning hot; this is a very unhealthy place."
"Oh! he shall leave this garret this very day; he shall live in my room
as long as he's sick. It's right below here; he'll be much more
comfortable there, for it's a good size, at least--one can turn round in
it. He'd have been there before this if I could have carried him alone.
If you would be kind enough to help me, monsieur, it would soon be
done!"
"Let's try it, mademoiselle."
And the doctor went to the bed and lifted the only mattress that there
was on the straw; Virginie did the same on the other side, and thus they
carried Auguste to the floor below and laid him upon the only bed in the
room.
"Where will you sleep, mademoiselle?" queried the doctor.
"Oh! that don't worry me, monsieur. I'll bring down the straw bed from
upstairs; indeed, I shan't feel like sleeping as long as he's sick."
The doctor looked at her again, then wrote a prescription and took his
leave, promising to come again early the next morning.
When Virginie was alone, she looked at the prescription and tried to
read it.
"Bless my soul!" she muttered, "how badly these doctors write! like
cats. 'Syrup of--infusion of'--No matter, the druggist will understand;
this much is clear, that here's syrups and infusions--consequently,
money. Poor Auguste! I'm quite sure he hasn't any. And I haven't much
more. But never mind--I have got to find some. He gave me enough when he
was rich. I must go at once and get whatever he needs."
Virginie took her purse and went out to buy what was required for the
draught the doctor had ordered. She did not amuse herself by babbling
with the concierge, but made haste back to her room to nurse the sick
man. His fever had changed to delirium; he did not know her, and he
seemed to be much worse. Virginie nursed him with redoubled zeal. She
succeeded, not without difficulty, in making him take the potion
prescribed for him. She did not take one moment's rest during the night;
she was constantly beside the sick-bed, leaving it only to return to her
work. Her work was making linen garments, for since her opportunities
for pleasure had fallen off, she had realized that in order to live
something more was required than fine eyes and a fetching smile. This
work brought her but little money; but she redoubled her efforts when
she had Auguste to care for.
While she worked, Virginie kept her eyes on the invalid.
"Poor boy!" she would say to herself; "his travels evidently didn't
bring him luck. But how does it happen that good old Bertrand isn't with
him? He must be dead, not to be with Auguste. He was a true friend, he
was! not like those popinjays who swindled him! And Denise, who loved
him so dearly! If she knew he was in this condition! Suppose I should
write to her? But no, that might make Auguste angry; perhaps he's seen
her again, and they've had a row; one can never tell! I must cure him
first; then he will tell me all his adventures."
The doctor came the next day, as he had promised; he was unable as yet
to give a definite opinion, but he agreed to come again in the evening,
and told Virginie to follow the same treatment.
For three days Auguste was very ill. The doctor was not sparing of his
visits, and Virginie followed all his prescriptions to the letter. But
in the afternoon of the third day she found nothing in her purse, and
she had no work ready to carry back. She needed money, however, for a
thousand things that her patient must have. Virginie was not at a loss;
she took off her bracelets and earrings, the sole relics of the days of
her early prosperity, and sold them to a jeweller as gayly as if she
were going to a party.
The doctor's treatment and Virginie's nursing were not thrown away. On
the fourth day Auguste was better; he was no longer delirious and was
surprised to find himself in a room which he did not recognize. He
pressed Virginie's hand and would have spoken; but the doctor had
prescribed perfect rest, so Virginie said to him:
"Hush! wait till you're better before you talk; meanwhile, don't worry
about anything; you're in my room, and I'll take care of you as well as
if you had a dozen black servants. All that I ask you is to drink your
medicine like a good boy, and think of nothing but rose-bushes. When you
are getting better, I'll sing as much as you want me to; I'll even go so
far as to dance, if that will amuse you, so as to bring back your
spirits."
Auguste smiled and held his peace. He continued to improve, but his
convalescence bade fair to be very long; and as a sick man always
requires innumerable things, the jewelry money was soon expended.
Thereupon, while Auguste was asleep, Virginie looked over her wardrobe
to see what she had that she could do without. In reality it contained
nothing that was not strictly necessary, but she succeeded in finding
several things of which she made a bundle, saying to herself:
"This will rid me of a lot of old stuff that I am sick to death of."
And the bundle went to join the jewels.
When Auguste had recovered a little strength, he was able to tell
Virginie the story of his adventures. When she learned that Bertrand had
voluntarily left his master, she dropped a glass of medicine that she
was about to hand to Auguste, and exclaimed:
"My arms have gone back on me! That Bertrand, whom I always thought
worthy of being embalmed! whom I looked upon as a faithful dog in his
attachment to you! You can't trust a man! My friend, the English beer
must have changed all his feelings!"
But when Auguste told her of his stay at Denise's cottage, Virginie
interrupted him to describe the peasant girl's grief and despair when
she learned of his departure--in short, all her love for him.
"Is it possible?" said Auguste; "she really loves me? Then she did not
deceive me! it wasn't pity that made her offer me her hand!"
"Does she love you! She adores you, monsieur. The poor child made me
feel so sad. She cried so! But you men are unique! when a woman loves
you, you're surprised, and when she doesn't love you, you're surprised
too."
"Oh! how happy you make me, Virginie!"
"In that case, get well right away, and go and console poor Denise."
"Oh no! I shall not go there."
"What's that? you won't go? You know that she loves you, that she is in
despair at your absence, and you won't go back to her?"
"I am destitute--I can't accept her hand."
"My dear friend, that's a piece of delicacy that I can't understand.
When a person loves us, what's theirs is ours; and if a prince should
fall in love with me, although I haven't any more money than you have, I
shouldn't hesitate a moment about marrying him."
Auguste held his peace, and Virginie said nothing further on a subject
that seemed to distress him. To restore the sick man's strength, he was
given no more infusions to drink; old wine and rich soups were
prescribed by the doctor, and Virginie, who searched her drawers in a
vain endeavor to make money, decided to sell a shawl which was her most
beautiful possession, and which she almost never laid aside.
But Auguste saw how much he was costing Virginie, and his distress on
that account retarded his convalescence. He watched her as she worked
incessantly, often passing a large part of the night at her sewing, and
he sighed, as he said to himself:
"She is killing herself for me! and I shall never be able to requite all
her care of me!"
When Virginie returned after procuring a sum of money by means of her
remaining resource, Auguste noticed that she was without the shawl she
usually wore.
"Where have you been, Virginie?" he asked in a feeble voice.
"For a little walk, to take the air. I saw that you were asleep and
didn't need me."
"Why aren't you wearing your shawl?"
"My shawl? Why, I didn't put it on because it's too warm."
"You had it on when you went out."
"Did I?--Well, the truth is that I've lent it to a friend of mine who's
going to a party to-night; but she'll give it back."
"You are deceiving me, Virginie."
"No, monsieur, I am not deceiving you."
"I am costing you a great deal; and you deprive yourself of everything
in order to take care of me, so that I may lack nothing! You are
stripping yourself clean for me!"
"What are you talking about, Monsieur Auguste? I deprive myself of
everything! Let me tell you, monsieur, that I deprive myself of nothing.
Who told you that I am not well fixed, that I haven't money put by?"
"And you work a great part of the night!"
"I work because it amuses me, and because I don't care to sleep. The
fact is that I have all I want; I had a hoard; I am certainly at liberty
to spend it as I please.--The idea of telling me that he is a burden to
me! How shameful of him! I, whom he has been kind to so many times! And
he is angry because I am taking care of him!--Monsieur would prefer that
somebody else should do it, perhaps. If you give me any more nonsense
like that, I'll throw the stew out of the window. As for my shawl, it's
true that I haven't got it now; but I didn't like it. In the first
place, the color isn't in fashion any longer; and then I don't want a
flower pattern--it's bad form."
Auguste said no more; he simply sighed as he took Virginie's hands in
his; and she pretended to be more lighthearted than ever, and sang all
day to prove that she did not regret her shawl.
The doctor came to see his patient; he found him much better, and
complimented Virginie on her nursing. She, although she had no idea how
she was going to pay him, asked him to tell her how much she owed him.
But the doctor replied that he never charged anything when he went
higher than the fourth floor; and he ran away from the thanks of Auguste
and Virginie, enjoining anew upon the convalescent to be careful and to
wait until his strength had returned before going out.
"There's a mighty fine man!" cried Virginie, looking after the doctor.
"He isn't handsome; certainly no one can say he's handsome; in fact, one
eye's smaller than the other. But for all that he's been a little Cupid
in my eyes ever since I saw what zeal he showed in his care of you."
Auguste smiled; Virginie's remarks often made his eyes sparkle; but when
he thought of his plight, his brow darkened and he sighed, despite all
the efforts of his nurse, who said to him constantly:
"You didn't use to sigh like that when you made love to me."
Auguste was anxious to get up and go out, but he was not strong enough;
and yet Virginie gave him everything that the doctor ordered. But his
convalescence seemed certain to be very slow, and although she told
Auguste every day that he must not worry, that she had money enough to
last a long while, Virginie discovered one morning that she had nothing
left of the proceeds of the sale of her shawl.
But the doctor, who had called on the evening before, had said that
Auguste could eat chicken, and Virginie, after searching her boxes, her
drawers and her purse, where she found nothing, muttered under her
breath:
"It's no use for me to look; there's nothing to raise money on--not even
enough to buy a lark; and my work won't be done till day after
to-morrow! No matter! if I have to put myself in pawn, he shall eat
chicken to-day!"
And Virginie put on her cap and the little neckerchief which had
replaced her shawl; then, leaving Auguste still asleep, she stole softly
from her room, saying to herself:
"I won't come back without a chicken."
XXIX
WHAT WAS TO BE EXPECTED.--RETURN TO THE VILLAGE
Virginie walked along the street, with no very clear idea as to where
she was going; she cudgelled her brains to think of somebody who might
accommodate her, but the memory is often in default when one asks it the
name of a true friend. If Cézarine had been in Paris, Virginie would not
have hesitated to call on her, because she knew her kindness of heart;
but Cézarine was then on the track of her Théodore, who had left the
capital, and her Théodore was likely to lead her a long way.
Virginie's other acquaintances offered too unpromising a prospect; there
were several to whom she would not have dreamed of applying. However,
the result of her reflections was always the same:--"I must have a
chicken for Auguste, and I will have one. I don't know just how I shall
do it; but whenever I've taken it into my head to do a thing, I've
always succeeded in doing it, and it's often been a question of things
much more interesting than a chicken; it would be a deuce of a go, if I
couldn't acquit myself creditably in the matter of a little chicken!"
And Virginie stopped in front of poultry shops and cookshops; she walked
back and forth, cudgelling her brains to no purpose; she found no money,
and she heaved a sigh as she gazed at the delicacies with which she
desired to regale the convalescent.
The amusing faces that Virginie made--her decent dress did not indicate
want--and the way she glared at the roast chickens, made the passers-by
smile now and then, for they saw in the grisette's emotion only an
outburst of gluttony; and she, seeing them smile as they looked at her,
muttered between her teeth: "The idiots! Suppose they do laugh in my
face--what difference does that make to me? Isn't there one of them who
will be polite enough to offer me a chicken? Men are getting to be
brutes!"
For ten minutes Virginie had been walking back and forth before a
cookshop, beside which was the small establishment of a linen-draper.
Virginie had not noticed the proprietress, because she had no eyes for
anything but the chickens; but through the gloves, ribbons and drygoods
in her window, the tradeswoman had noticed Virginie, whose strange
behavior was calculated to arouse curiosity. Women have a sentimental
instinct which enables them to understand at once what men cannot divine
in an hour, or what they cannot divine at all. The young linen-draper
saw in Virginie's eyes that it was not gluttony that caused her to stand
in contemplation before her neighbor's merchandise. She went out of her
shop by the rear door,--her yard and that of the cookshop were the
same,--entered the cookshop, purchased a fine, fat chicken, wrapped it
in two thicknesses of paper, and returned to her own shop by the same
road. Then she stood in her doorway and looked at Virginie, not knowing
how to proffer her gift. For some time Virginie paid no heed to the
young woman; but the latter gazed at her with such a meaning expression,
and seemed so anxious to speak to her, that Virginie walked toward the
shop-door.
The young tradeswoman at once said to her, in a low tone and blushing
hotly:
"Madame, you have forgotten your purse, haven't you? If you would allow
me to offer you----"
And as she spoke, she thrust the chicken under Virginie's arm, trembling
as if she had done a ridiculous thing; but one often trembles much more
when doing a kind deed. Virginie could only squeeze the young woman's
hand and say: