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[Illustration: _Copyright 1904 by G. Barrie & Sons_]
_AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTRUDER_
_As Cornélie was about to draw the curtains aside, she stopped, fell
back a step or two, turned pale and said: ... "It seems to me that I
hear someone breathing."_
NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME XII
THE WHITE HOUSE
[Illustration: PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
GEORGE BARRIE’S SONS]
THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK
_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._
THE WHITE HOUSE
I
THREE YOUNG MEN
It was mid-July in the year eighteen hundred and twenty-five. The clock
on the Treasury building had just struck four, and the clerks, hastily
closing the drawers of their desks, replacing documents in their
respective boxes and pens on their racks, lost no time in taking their
hats and laying aside the work of the State, to give all their attention
to private business or pleasure.
Amid the multitude of persons of all ages who thronged the long
corridors, a gentleman of some twenty-seven or twenty-eight years, after
arranging his knives, his pencils and his eraser much more methodically
than young men are accustomed to do, and after carefully brushing his
hat and coat, placed under his arm a large green portfolio, which at a
little distance might have been mistaken for that of the head of a
department, and assuming an affable, smiling expression, he joined the
crowd that was hurrying toward the door, saluting to right and left
those of his colleagues who, as they passed him, said:
"Bonjour, Robineau!"
Monsieur Robineau--we know his name now--when he was a hundred yards or
more from the department, suddenly adopted an altogether different
demeanor; he seemed to swell up in his coat, raised his head and
ostentatiously quickened his pace; the amiable smile was replaced by a
busy, preoccupied air; he held the great portfolio more closely to his
side and glanced with a patronizing expression at the persons who
passed him. His manner was no longer that of a simple clerk at fifteen
hundred francs; it was that of a chief of bureau at least.
However, despite his haughty bearing, Robineau bent his steps toward a
modest restaurant, where a dinner was served for thirty-two sous, which
he considered delicious, because his means did not allow him to procure
a better one. Herein, at all events, Robineau displayed great prudence;
to be able to content oneself with what one has, is the best way to be
happy; and since we hear the rich complain every day, the poor must
needs appear to be satisfied.
But as he crossed the Palais-Royal garden on the way to his restaurant,
Robineau was halted by two very fashionably dressed young men who
laughingly barred his path. One, who seemed to be about twenty-four
years of age, was tall and thin and stooped slightly, as tall men who
are not in the military service are likely to do. Despite this trifling
defect in his figure he bore himself gracefully; there was in his
manners and in his slightest movements an _abandon_ instinct with
frankness, and a fascinating vivacity. His attractive face, his large
blue eyes, and his golden hair, which fell gracefully about his high,
aristocratic forehead, combined to make of this young man a most comely
cavalier; but his pallor, the strongly marked lines under his eyes, and
the customary expression of his features, denoted a young man who had
taken a great deal out of life and who was already old in the matter of
sensations and pleasures.
His companion was shorter and his features were less regular, but he
would have been called perhaps a comelier youth. His hair was black, his
eyes, albeit very dark brown, had an attractively sweet expression, and
his voice and his smile finished what his eyes had begun. There was
less joviality, less vivacity in his manners than in his friend’s; but
he did not appear, like him, to be already sated with all the enjoyments
that life offers.
At sight of the two young men, the clerk’s face became amiable once
more; he eagerly grasped the hand that the taller, fair-haired one
offered him, and cried:
"Ah! it is Alfred de Marcey! Delighted to meet you.--And Monsieur
Edouard! You are both well, I see.--You are going to dine, doubtless;
and so am I."
That one of the two young men whose hand Robineau continued to shake,
and whose noble and intelligent face denoted none the less a slight
tendency to raillery, looked at our clerk with a smile; and there was in
that smile a lurking expression of mischief at which a very sensitive
person might have taken offence, had it not been that he instantly
exclaimed in a cordial, merry tone:
"Dear Robineau!--Where on earth have you been of late?--My friend, such
high-crowned hats are not worn now. Fie! that is last year’s style; but
I suppose you wear it to add to your height, eh? And those
coat-tails!--Ha! ha! You look like a _noble father_. Who in the devil
makes your clothes? Do you know that you are half a century behind the
times?"
Robineau took all these jesting remarks in very good part; and,
releasing the young man’s hand at last, he rejoined good-humoredly:
"It’s a very easy matter for you gentlemen, rich as you are, with your
fifty, or a hundred thousand francs a year, to follow all the fashions,
to be on the watch for the slightest change in the cut of a coat or the
shape of a hat; but a simple government clerk, who has only his salary
of a hundred louis!--However, I must be promoted soon.--You can see that
one must be orderly and economical, if one doesn’t want to run into
debt. And then, I never paid much attention to my dress! I am not
coquettish myself. Mon Dieu! so long as a man is dressed decently, what
does it matter, after all, that a coat is a little longer or shorter?"
"Ah! you play the philosopher, Robineau! But what about those most
symmetrical curls which you arrange so carefully on each side of your
face?"
"Oh! those are natural! I never touch them."
"Nonsense! I’ll wager that you never go to bed without rolling your hair
in curl-papers!"
"Well! upon my word!"
"Oh! I know you--with your assumption of indifference! It’s just as it
used to be at school: it made little difference to you what you had for
dinner; but the next day you would play sick in order to get soup."
As he spoke, the tall young man turned toward his friend, who could not
help smiling; while Robineau, to change the subject, hastily addressed
the latter.
"Well, Monsieur Edouard, how goes the literary career, the drama?
Successful as always, of course? You are used to that."
Edouard made a faint grimace, and Alfred roared with laughter, crying:
"Ah! you were well-advised to talk to him of success! You have no idea
what chord you have touched!--What, Robineau! have you not divined from
that long face, that frowning brow, a poet who has met with an
_accident_? who has been victimized by a _cabal_? That, in a word, you
are looking upon a fallen author?"
"The deuce! is it so?--What! Monsieur Edouard, have you had a fall?"
"Yes, monsieur," Edouard replied, with a faint sigh.
"Ah! that is amusing!"
"You consider it amusing, do you?"
"I meant to say, extraordinary--for you have sometimes succeeded.--Was
it very bad then?--that is to say, didn’t it take?"
"It seems not, as it was hissed."
"Faith! I don’t know what sort of a play yours was, but I am sure that
it couldn’t be any worse than the one I saw the day before yesterday at
Feydeau. Fancy! a perfect rigmarole! all entrances and exits; in fact,
it was so stupid, that I, who almost never hiss, could not help doing as
the others did. I hissed like a rattlesnake."
Alfred, who for several minutes had been restraining a fresh inclination
to laugh, dropped his friend’s arm and gave full vent to his hilarity,
while Edouard said to Robineau, with an expression which he strove to
render resigned:
"I thank you, monsieur, for having helped to bury my work."
"What? can it be that it was yours?" said Robineau, opening his little
black eyes as wide as possible.
"Yes, indeed!" said Alfred, "it was his play that you hissed like a
rattlesnake."
"Oh! mon Dieu! how sorry I am! If I could have guessed! But it’s your
own fault too; if you had sent me a ticket, it would not have happened.
I remember now that there were some very clever _mots_--some pretty
scenes. I am really distressed, Monsieur Edouard."
"And I assure you that I am not in the least offended. What do a few
hisses more or less matter?--And in my opinion, a good hard fall is
better than to drag along through two or three performances."
"Then you bear me no grudge?"
"Why, no," said Alfred, "you have proved your friendship! he who loves
well, chastises soundly! Moreover, the best general sometimes loses a
battle. Isn’t that so, Edouard?--Look you, I’ll wager that that has
been said to you at least fifty times since the night before last."
Edouard smiled--but this time with a good heart; and he once more took
his friend’s arm, who looked at Robineau again, while a mocking smile
played about his lips.
"You are still very busy, Robineau?"
"Oh, yes! always! We have an infernal amount of work to do. My chief
relies on me; he knows that in moments of stress I am always on hand."
"What have you in that big portfolio that you hold so tight under your
arm? Are you to play the part of a notary to-night?"
"Oh! it has nothing to do with acting; it’s work I am taking home."
"The devil!"
"Very important work. I sometimes spend a good part of the night on it.
But I am certain of promotion."
Alfred made no reply to this; he bit his lips and glanced at Edouard,
and a moment later he continued:
"And the love-affairs, Robineau--how do they come on? How many
mistresses have you at this moment?"
"Oh! I am virtuous, very virtuous.--In the first place, my means do not
permit me to keep women; in the second place, even if I had the means, I
wouldn’t do it--my tastes don’t run that way. I insist upon being loved
for myself!"
"You certainly deserve to be adored, monsieur."
"I don’t say that I wish to be adored precisely; but I desire to find
that sympathy--that sweet unreserve--that--Oh! you are laughing! You
don’t believe in true love!"
"I? on the contrary, I believe in whatever you choose; and the proof of
it is that I really believe myself to be in love with all the pretty
women I meet--eh, Edouard?--Oh! but we mustn’t mention women to him
now."
"What’s that? has he had a fall with them too?" said Robineau, chuckling
as if well pleased with his jest.
"No; but his latest passion has just executed a _fugue_ with an
Englishman; so that Edouard swears that he will never become attached to
another sempstress."
"Aha! so she was a sempstress?--And I’ll be bound that you denied her
nothing; for you are very open-handed. And then she planted you for some
wretched Englishman who promised her a carriage. That is the reward of
wasting one’s substance on a woman!"
"On whom would you have us waste it, pray, Robineau? So far as I am
concerned, women have often deceived me; but I bear them no ill-will.
For, after all, a woman, when she throws us over, leaves us at liberty
to take another; whereas we often don’t know how to rid ourselves of one
who is faithful."
"That is the reasoning of a jilt!" said Edouard. "Ah! my dear Alfred,
you will always be lucky in love, for you will never love!"
"That is so," said Robineau; "he cares nothing for sentiment, he is all
for pleasure; and when one is in his position, rich, of noble birth and
an only son, with a father who lets him do whatever he pleases, there is
no lack of pleasure. For my part, messieurs, I know how to restrict
myself; and then, as I told you, I have simple tastes--I care neither
for luxury, nor for honors.--What do I need, to be happy?--What I have:
a good place--a little fatiguing, to be sure, but I am fond of work--and
pending the time when I shall marry, a pretty, emotional, loving
mistress, who doesn’t cost me a sou, and on whose fidelity I can rely;
for I am horribly jealous."
"And where do you find such a treasure, Robineau?"
"They are easily found; to be sure, I do not apply to grisettes or
working-girls.--But I beg pardon, messieurs; while chatting with you, I
forget that I am expected to dine at a house to which I was invited a
week ago. They will not sit down without me, and I do not wish to keep
them waiting too long."
As he spoke, Robineau stepped toward Alfred to shake hands. The latter
seized the opportunity to take possession of the portfolio which the
clerk held under his arm.
"My portfolio! my portfolio!" cried Robineau; "the devil! no practical
jokes!"
"I’ll bet you that it contains nothing but blank paper," said Alfred,
still retaining possession of the portfolio. "Come, Robineau; will you
bet a dinner at Véry’s?"
"I won’t bet any dinner. I am in a hurry; give it back to me. I don’t
want you to look inside; they are secret papers."
But Alfred paid no heed; he untied the strings of the portfolio, and
exhibited to Edouard four packages of letter paper, three sticks of
sealing wax, a pencil and two papers of pins.
"So this is what you work at all night?" observed Alfred; while Edouard
laughed heartily at the expense of the man who had hissed his play.
Robineau feigned surprise, crying:
"Mon Dieu! I must have made a mistake! I took one package for another! I
have so many files before me!--This vexes me terribly, I assure you; and
if I were not expected at dinner, I would go back to my desk."
"Monseigneur, I restore your secret documents," said Alfred, handing the
large portfolio, with an air of profound respect, to Robineau, who
replaced it under his arm and was about to take his leave, to escape
the witticisms of the two young men. But the taller one detained him.
"You are not angry, I trust, Robineau?"
"I! angry!--Why so, pray? You like to laugh and joke, and so do I, when
I have time."
"Yes, I know that you are a good fellow at bottom. Look you--to prove to
me that you bear me no grudge because I insisted upon casting a profane
eye into the administrative portfolio, you must come to my house this
evening; my father gives a large reception--I don’t quite know on what
occasion; but this much I do know--that there will be cards and dancing
and some very pretty women. Despite your little every-day passion, you
are a connoisseur of the sex, and you must come. Edouard will be with
us--he has promised me; we will win his money at écarté, and that will
help him to forget his last failure. And then, who knows? perhaps he
will find among the company a beauty who will wipe from his heart the
memory of his faithless fair.--Well! will you come?"
Robineau’s face fairly beamed while Alfred proffered his invitation; he
grasped his hand again and shook it hard, as he replied:
"My dear friend--certainly--I am deeply touched. This courteous
invitation----"
"Enough fine phrases! Is there any need of ceremony between us? I
intended to write to you; but you know how thoughtless I am, and I
forgot all about it.--Then you will come?"
"I most certainly shall have that honor, and I am----"
"All right, it’s understood; until this evening, then; and we will try
to enjoy ourselves, which is not always easy at grand functions."
With that the young man and his companion, after nodding to the Treasury
clerk, walked rapidly away, leaving Robineau in the garden of the
Palais-Royal, so engrossed by the invitation he had just received and by
the prospect of passing the evening at the Baron de Marcey’s, that, if
his feet had not been arrested by the raised rim of the basin, he would
have walked straight into the water on the way to his favorite
restaurant.
II
THE MILLINER.--ROBINEAU’S TOILET
Robineau arrived at last at his modest restaurant, the public rooms of
which were, as usual, full of people; for small purses are more common
than large fortunes; which does not mean that only the wealthy frequent
the best restaurants. But one thing is certain, namely, that at
thirty-two sou places, the patrons eat with heartier appetites than one
sometimes has in the gilded salons of the others. As bread is supplied
in unlimited quantities, the consumers do not stint themselves with
respect to it; and the cry of: "Some bread, waiter!" is heard constantly
from every part of the room.
Robineau, who, under ordinary circumstances, was not of the number of
small eaters, had less appetite than usual on this day; he swallowed his
soup without complaining that it was too clear or too salt, to the
waiter’s great surprise; and when the latter inquired what he wished to
eat after the soup, Robineau replied:
"Whatever you please, but make haste. I am in a great hurry. I am going
to the Baron de Marcey’s this evening, and I must dress with great
care."
"In that case, monsieur, a beefsteak and potatoes," said the waiter, who
cared very little whether his customer was going to a baron’s that
evening, while Robineau looked about with an air of importance to see
whether anyone had noticed what he had just said, and whether people
were looking at him with more respect. But to no purpose did he cast his
eyes over the neighboring tables; the persons who surrounded him were
too busily occupied in putting out of sight what was on their plates, to
amuse themselves staring at their neighbors; a thirty-two sou restaurant
is not the place in which to put on airs.
Robineau, seeing that no one paid any attention to him, although he
mentioned the baron’s name once more, hastened to eat the three courses
which followed the soup. When the waiter came with the dessert, which
consisted of nuts and raisins, Robineau’s customary order, the clerk
sprang to his feet, and, placing his portfolio under his arm, left the
table, saying to the waiter:
"That’s for you; it’s your _pourboire_."
Then he walked hurriedly through the dining-room, elbowing such
customers as stood in his path, who grumbled at his lack of ceremony;
while the waiter looked with a wry face at the nuts and raisins which
were bestowed upon him as _pourboire_.
Robineau hastened to Rue Saint-Honoré, where his lodgings were situated.
As he drew near the house, the ground floor of which was occupied by a
milliner’s shop, he slackened his pace and his eyes seemed to try to
pierce the yellow silk curtains which concealed the shop girls from the
eyes of passers-by.
"The devil!" muttered Robineau; "it’s only six o’clock, and Fifine isn’t
ready to leave the shop. But I am in extreme need of her assistance. If
that thoughtless Alfred had written me a few days beforehand, I might
have prepared for his grand reception, and I should have everything that
I need. These rich people never remember that other people aren’t
rich!--I don’t know whether I have a white waistcoat to wear, and silk
stockings.--Have I any silk stockings?--Mon Dieu! I lent them to Fifine
the last night we went to the theatre, and she hasn’t returned them yet.
That woman will end by stripping me of everything! I am too generous.
But if she has worn holes in them I’ll make a terrible scene!--With
fifteen hundred francs a year, when one has to feed and lodge oneself,
and when one wishes to cut some figure in society, one cannot swim in
silk stockings--it’s impossible!--and with all the rest, I have had no
luck at écarté for some time past. Mon Dieu! when shall I be rich?--I
certainly will not put on airs then; I will be neither haughty nor
insolent. But at all events, when I receive an invitation to go into the
best society, I shall not be driven to expedients to procure silk
stockings."
While indulging in these reflections, Robineau had arrived in front of
the shop; but the door was closed. To be sure, the curtains afforded a
glimpse of the lower part of a face, an arm, or a profile; but there
were six young women who worked in the shop; and when the mistress was
present they kept their eyes on their work and did not attempt to look
out of the windows. Robineau passed the door and decided to enter the
passageway leading to his rooms, at the end of which was a door opening
into the back shop. He walked to and fro for some time, coughing loudly
when he was near the door at the end, and glancing impatiently at his
silver watch, which he carried in his fob, at the end of a dainty blue
ribbon of watered silk passed about his neck.
All six of the young women who worked in the milliner’s shop slept in
the house; two in a room adjoining the mistress’s apartment, and the
other four in a room on the fifth floor, above Robineau’s. Mademoiselle
Fifine was one of the four. Robineau was well aware that, in order to go
to her room, Fifine must pass through the passageway; but she did not
ordinarily go up until nine o’clock, and he could not wait until that
hour to speak to the girl. Much the simplest way would have been to go
into the shop and ask Mademoiselle Fifine to step outside for a moment;
but that would have meant an irrevocable quarrel with his fair one; for,
like all milliner’s apprentices, Fifine had her own code of morals; if
she had lovers, it was only because all her companions had their
pleasant little acquaintances, and because they would have made fun of
her if she too had not had someone to take her out to walk on Sunday.
But during the week, madame--that was the title that they bestowed on
the mistress of the establishment--was very strict with her young
ladies, and she was responsible for their virtue from eight in the
morning till nine at night.
After coughing vainly in the passage, Robineau decided to go up to his
room, in order to put away his portfolio and make preparations for his
toilet. He climbed the four flights of a dark and dusty staircase, of a
type not uncommon on Rue Saint-Honoré; he entered his apartment, which
consisted of two small rooms, one of which served as waiting-room,
wardrobe and kitchen, the other as bedroom, dressing-room and salon. The
first was scantily furnished, but the second was decorated with more or
less taste, and it was orderly and clean; in fact, everything was in
its place--a rare thing in a bachelor’s quarters.
Robineau opened one of the drawers of his commode, took out his black
dress coat and his dancing trousers, and to his delight, found a
spotlessly white piqué waistcoat. He spread them all on the bed, then
looked at himself complacently in the mirror over the mantel; and his
mirror showed him, as usual, a coarse, bloated face, small black eyes, a
large round nose, a small mouth, a low forehead, very thick light hair,
and thin, compressed lips. Robineau considered it a charming face; he
smiled at himself, assumed affected poses, bowed to himself, and
exclaimed:
"I am very good-looking, and in full-dress I ought to produce a great
effect."
After looking at himself in the mirror for several minutes, he returned
to his commode, fumbled in the drawers, turned everything upside down,
and cried:
"Evidently I have no silk stockings. If worse comes to worst, I might
buy a pair--I still have twenty-three francs left from my month’s pay;
but that would straiten me; if I want to risk a little at écarté, I
can’t do it. I know well enough that if I should ask Alfred to lend me
money, he wouldn’t refuse; but I don’t want to appear to be short, and,
in truth, as I have some very fine silk stockings, I don’t see why I
should buy others. Mademoiselle Fifine simply must return them; if not,
it’s all over, we are out, and I give her no more guitar lessons. She
will think twice; a girl doesn’t find every day a lover who plays the
guitar and who is obliging enough to teach his sweetheart how to play."
Robineau took down a guitar that hung in a corner of the room, went to
the open window looking on the courtyard, and hummed a ballad,
accompanying himself on the instrument. When Fifine was in her room on
the fifth floor, the guitar was ordinarily the signal which notified her
that Robineau awaited her; but it was hardly possible to hear the music
in the shop.
After he had sung for some time, Robineau looked again at his watch; he
stamped the floor impatiently and was about to go down to the passage,
when someone rang at his door.
"It is she! She must have heard me!" he cried as he ran to open the
door. But instead of his charmer, he found a young solicitor’s clerk,
whom he knew as the friend of one of Fifine’s shopmates.
"Have they come up?" inquired the young man, not entering the room, but
simply thrusting his head forward to look.
"What do you mean? have who come up?"
"The young ladies. I simply must speak to Thénaïs; I went up to their
room at all risks and knocked; no one answered, but, as I came down, I
heard your guitar; and knowing that you gave lessons to Mademoiselle
Fifine, I thought that they were in your room."
"Alas, no! they are still in the shop; they won’t come up for a good
hour at least; it is most annoying to me, for I have something very
important to ask Fifine."
"Well! isn’t there any way to let them know that we are here?"
"Oh! if we should go to the shop, they would be angry; it’s expressly
forbidden; and then I don’t care to do it myself; when one is in one of
the departments of the government, one has to maintain a certain
decorum; especially just now, we have to be moral; the rules are very
strict on that point."
"We can get the young ladies to come out without going to the shop."
"Faith! it’s an hour since I came in, and began trying to think of a way
to do it."
"Wait! I am never at a loss.--There’s no concierge in this house, is
there?"
"No."
"So much the better--we can do what we please.--Have you two or three
plates?"
"Plates? hardly; I very rarely eat in my room."
"No matter--a salad-bowl, a vase, anything you please."
Robineau looked in his buffet and returned with a porcelain preserve
dish and one plate, saying:
"These are all I can find."
"Excellent," said the solicitor’s clerk, taking the two objects.
"What do you propose to do with them?"
"You will see; follow me, and shout as I do, with all your lungs, when
we are near the shop."
The young man went slowly down stairs, holding the plate in one hand and
the preserve dish in the other. Robineau followed, curious to see what
he was going to do. When they reached the first floor, the clerk began
to shout: "Stop thief!" and Robineau followed suit. Then the young man
hurled the plate into the passage; whereupon Robineau ran after him to
stop him.
"The devil!" he exclaimed, "that will do; don’t throw my preserve dish!"
But it was too late; the dish had already followed the plate; it broke
into a thousand pieces, and at the crash all the young women rushed from
the shop to inquire what was going on.
At sight of them, the solicitor’s clerk roared with laughter.
"I knew that I’d make you leave your work," he cried.
"Oh! it was a sell!" cried the shop-girls, with a laugh, while Robineau
gazed sadly at the ruins of his preserve dish and murmured:
"Yes, it’s a very pretty scheme! But I won’t entrust any more of my
dishes to this fellow."
The girls laughed uproariously; the young clerk was already talking with
Mademoiselle Thénaïs, and Robineau was about to approach Fifine, when
there was a cry of "Here’s madame!" whereupon the young milliners
vanished like a flock of swallows, and the young men were once more
alone in the passage.
"Well! now they have gone back again!" said Robineau.
"I told Thénaïs what I wanted to tell her," replied the other; and he
left the house, enchanted with his ruse, while Robineau, who was minus a
plate and preserve dish, and had not even spoken to Fifine, went
upstairs to his room, consigning clerks and milliners to the devil. He
arranged once more all the component parts of his costume, and had
almost determined to go out to buy some silk stockings, when he heard
two little taps at his door, and Mademoiselle Fifine appeared at last.
Fifine was a buxom, jovial wench of twenty-four, whose coloring was a
little high, whose fair hair was of rather a doubtful shade, whose eyes
were a little too prominent, and whose figure was a little too short;
but there was a touch of decision in her manner which indicated a young
woman of character, whom one might have taken for a roisterer, had she
worn trousers.
"Well! what’s in the wind, my friend? What’s all this business of
smashing dishes in order to see us? Dieu! what extravagance indeed! The
girls called that very gallant!"
As she spoke, Fifine threw herself on a couch opposite the bed, and
continued to eat cherries, which she carried in a handkerchief.
"If you think that it was an invention of mine, you are much mistaken!"
rejoined Robineau sourly; "it was that little clerk, who, without a word
to me--Don’t throw your stones all over my room, I beg you."
"I’ll sweep your room! Mon Dieu! Monsieur Neatness! Pray take care! he
would rather have me swallow the stones, no matter what the result might
be--eh, my dear friend?--What on earth is the matter with you to-night,
Raoul? your nose is longer than usual; have you some secret trouble?"
"Oh! it’s nothing to laugh at."
"Well, I’m not inclined to cry. If you want me to cry, play me an act of
melodrama; play me Monsieur Truguelin in _Cœlina_. When you come to
the suicide, I’ll throw a cherry-stone at you."
"Come, Fifine, let us talk sense, I beg you."
"Come then and sit down beside me, so that I can pinch you. You see, I
feel tremendously like pinching something to-night."
"I have no time to fool."
"Dieu! how agreeable this lover of mine is!"
"I am going to a reception this evening at my intimate friend Alfred de
Marcey’s, son of the Baron de Marcey, who has nearly a hundred thousand
francs a year."
"Ah! so that’s the reason one can’t look you in the face, and the reason
you threw your dishes downstairs. Exactly! when one visits a baron, one
shouldn’t eat next day. You’ve grown two inches already."
"Fifine, listen to me, I entreat you!"
"Are you going to cry?"
"To go to the Baron de Marcey’s, I must wear full evening dress."
"Ah! I see what you’re coming at--you want me to put on your
curl-papers."
"Curl-papers--I shall be glad if you will, it is true; for you do it to
perfection."
"Ah! the lion is quieting down!"
"But there is something else of which I am in urgent need, and that is
my black silk stockings, which I lent you the last Sunday that it
rained."
"Your silk stockings?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"The deuce! but they’re a long way off, if they’re still going!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I lent them to Fœdora, to play in private theatricals,
and she admitted that she let her best friend wear them the next day, to
a wedding; but as his calves are exceptionally big, he ripped a few
stitches when he took them off."
"Mon Dieu! this is what comes of lending your things!"
"Is a person to presume that her lover will ask her to return what he
lends her?"
"Mademoiselle, I am not a capitalist, a dealer in novelties. I have
never pretended to play the _grand seigneur_ with you."
"Oh! anyone can see that!--Catch it, Raoul."
"Don’t throw cherry-stones at me, please.--What am I to do? It’s eight
o’clock already; to be sure, I know that people go very late to large
receptions."
"Sometimes they don’t go till the next day; it’s more _comme il faut_."
"But I counted on those stockings."
"You must buy some more; there’s a place across the street where they
sell them."
"Buy some? Oh, yes! that’s very easy to say.--You shouldn’t have made me
spend twelve francs at the restaurant last Sunday."
"We will spend fifteen next Sunday, my dear friend."
"You always want to eat the things that cost most."
"Nothing’s too good for me."
"Well, if I buy stockings, it’s adieu to our country excursion for
Sunday, I warn you."
"That begins to move me.--Come, be calm, _loulou_; you’re very lucky to
have a sweetheart with some imagination. Stay here and begin to dress at
the top; I’ll go to look after the lower part!"[1]
"Oh! my dear Fifine, how good you will be to do that!"
"Give me five or six sheets of note paper--vellum."
"Here they are; as it happens, I have just brought some home from my
office. Do you want some sealing-wax--three sticks?"
"Yes, yes, give it to me; I secure madame’s good graces with these
things; otherwise she wouldn’t have let me come away so early; but I
said that I had a sick-headache, and as I’m her favorite, she said: ‘Go
upstairs to bed.’"
Fifine took the paper and sealing-wax, and skipped out of Robineau’s
room; whereupon he began to undress, saying to himself:
"She is really an excellent girl, and as bright as a button, this
Fifine! She’s a little hasty, and a bit of a glutton; but still she is
mad over me and would jump into the fire for me. She has refused
marquises, beet-sugar manufacturers and brokers for me; and yet I simply
take her out on Sundays--that’s all. She isn’t like Monsieur Edouard’s
sempstress, who left him for an Englishman.--Ha! ha! I am not so very
sorry, for he seems rather inclined to put on airs. He has about three
thousand francs a year, I believe; that’s not so much! But he writes
plays, opéra-comiques, vaudevilles--that is to say, fragments of
vaudevilles.--Mon Dieu! if I had the time, I would write plays, too; and
I flatter myself they’d be done rather better than his. But when a man
has to be at his desk from nine o’clock till four, and always working,
how is he to cultivate the Muses? When I am chief of a bureau, or even
deputy chief, then it will be different--I shall have some time to
myself. That Alfred’s the lucky fellow! An only son, his father a baron,
and about a hundred thousand francs a year!--And just see how it all
came about: Alfred lost his mother when he was very young; his father
married again some years later, and might have had other children; but
he didn’t; instead of that, his wife, whom he adored, died three years
after their marriage, and the baron, overwhelmed with grief by the loss
of his second wife, swore that he would never marry again; and he has
kept his oath, although he is still a young man.--How well it has all
turned out for Alfred! Dieu! nothing like that will ever happen to me!
And yet I have an uncle somewhere or other, careering round the world,
according to what my mother told me before she died; an uncle who was
determined to make his fortune, and who started for the Indies, or
Peru--in fact, no one knows where. But psha! he has probably tried to
leap Niagara! It’s only on the stage that uncles arrive just in time for
the dénouement, in order to save innocence from going to prison. After
all, I am not ambitious--I’m a philosopher, I am satisfied with what I
have. If I had some silk stockings, though, I should be even better
satisfied. But just let a fortune fall into my hands, and people will
see how coolly, how phlegmatically I will receive it.--Well! here I am
all undressed, and Mademoiselle Fifine doesn’t return.--I can’t put on
my cravat before my feet are shod and my hair curled. Luckily it’s July,
and I shan’t take cold."
To kill time, Robineau, being weary of walking about his room dressed
like a person who is about to make bread, concluded to take his guitar.
He had reached the second stanza of the romanza from _Bélisaire_, when
he was interrupted by a burst of laughter. Fifine, having left the door
ajar, had entered the room without making any noise, and was holding her
sides as she contemplated Belisarius in his shirt.
"O Dieu! how handsome you are like that, my boy!" she said, still
laughing; "I am tempted to call the girls to look at the picture."
"Call no one, I beg; although, without flattery, I believe I have a
figure that wouldn’t frighten them."
"You look like a fat Bacchus."
"Let me see the stockings, please."
"Here they are, troubadour; and I think that they’ll make a handsome
leg."
And Fifine tossed a pair of black silk stockings on Robineau’s knee. He
examined them for some time, then cried:
"They’re a woman’s stockings!"
"To be sure, as it was Adeline who lent them to me."
"Men don’t wear openwork things like these."
"Bah! men wear something else, and it doesn’t prevent their dancing."
"But----"
"But these are all I could find, and it seems to me that you ought to be
well satisfied."
Robineau concluded at last to put on the stockings.
"They’ll think that it’s a new style I am trying to introduce," he said.
While he began to dress, Fifine took the guitar and hummed a tune.
"So I shan’t have any lesson to-night, my friend?"
"You must see, my dear, that it’s impossible.--They fit me very well,
these stockings--exceedingly well--it’s surprising! I have a leg that
adapts itself to anything."
"By the way, do you remember the way we behaved last night?--Well! we
had a most extraordinary scene! You know madame won’t let us read in
bed, because she’s afraid of fire."
"She is quite right; as to that, I agree with her."
"That’s all right, but we girls don’t care a fig for her orders. Last
night, after Fœdora had dictated a note to Thénaïs, and when Adeline
had finished telling us how she detected her lover’s treachery--Oh! by
the way, I never told you that story; it’s terribly funny!"
"My dear, if you would be good enough to put on my curl-papers now, I
should----"
"The iron isn’t hot yet; it’s on the stove upstairs; no matter--give me
some tissue paper, I’ll arrange you."
"Put on fifteen."
"Why not thirty-six, like another Ninon?--Look out now, don’t
move!--Just imagine that Fidélio--that’s Adeline’s lover’s name--has a
business agency office, and always keeps pretty little maid servants,
who, they say, he’s in the habit of making love to. It’s so well known
in the quarter, that they always tell a girl of it beforehand when she
enters his service, so that she may know what to expect----"
"The iron----"
"Nonsense! don’t bother me with your iron!--Adeline didn’t know all
that. The rascal had introduced himself to her under a false name. Ah!
what villains men are! Instead of putting on curl-papers for you, I
ought to tear all your hairs out, one by one!"
"Fifine--I beg you----"
"Don’t move.--But that isn’t all: Monsieur Fidélio, not satisfied with
having a pretty blonde of twenty in his service, was making love to a
married woman; and this married woman, it seems----"
"You are pulling my hair!"
"Oh! that, you know, is very bad! That a woman who is free should do
what she pleases--that’s all right. But one either is bound or one
isn’t--that’s all I know; that is to say, unless the husband’s a tyrant
or a miser."
"It’s after nine o’clock, Fifine!"
"What’s the odds? you will have time enough to make conquests.--Now
then, the servant noticed that the lady came very often to see Fidélio
on business, and that Fidélio, instead of being pleasant with his maid,
as he usually was, did nothing but scold her. But one can be a servant
and still have lively passions; such things have been known. To revenge
herself, the girl goes one fine day to the lady’s husband and offers to
make him a witness of a meeting between his wife and her man of
business. The husband was frantic; he accepted, sent for a cab, and got
in with the little blonde, who was to tell the driver to stop at the
proper time. But on the way--and this is the funniest part of it!--the
husband began to find the little maid much to his liking and proposed to
transfer his passion to her.--‘We are both deceived,’ says he; ‘let’s
take our revenge together.’--She didn’t take to that scheme; she
resisted and the man persisted. Tired of being urged by him,--he had
entirely forgotten his wife,--she told the coachman to stop, opened the
door, and jumped out of the cab. The gentleman jumped after her and
broke his nose on the ground. The girl, to escape his attentions,
entered the first house she came to. It happened to be ours; and who do
you suppose she found in the passage?--who but Fidélio colloguing with
Adeline!--Then there was an explosion, explanation, confusion, and----"
"The iron must be red hot!"
"I’ll go and fetch it; but if it isn’t hot, I won’t come down again."
Robineau looked at himself in the mirror, saying:
"When Fifine is in the mood for chattering, there’s no way to stop her.
But she puts on curl-papers like an angel; I shall have the best dressed
hair at the ball."
Fifine returned, carrying the curling-iron, smoking hot.
"Come quick; it isn’t too hot."
"It looks all red to me. My dear love, be careful not to burn me, I
beseech you."
"Dieu! he’s a perfect little lamb when he’s frightened!--To return to
our scene of last night: we had just gone to bed, and I was
reading--because, without flattering myself, I am the best reader.
Auguste had lent us the _Barons von Felsheim_, and we were devouring
it--that is the word--when, in the middle of a charming chapter, someone
knocked at our door, and we heard madame’s voice calling:--‘Mesdemoiselles,
why have you a light burning so late?’--At that the most profound
silence replaced our bursts of laughter, and to hide the light,--for we
didn’t propose to put it out--it occurred to me to put a vessel--you
know, a night vessel,--over the candle-stick. That worked very well; she
couldn’t see anything. Madame called again, and we didn’t answer. Then
madame went away; and when we thought she was back in her room, I took
off the protecting vessel.--What do you suppose? The light was really
out. We were in despair; we didn’t feel like sleeping, and we didn’t
want to be left in the middle of a very interesting chapter, in which
there’s something about truffles--and not a match, because we haven’t as
yet saved up a sufficient sum to purchase that commodity, for milliner’s
apprentices aren’t in the habit of patronizing savings banks. However,
we were determined to have a light, and for my own part, I would have
gone out and unhooked the street lantern rather than not finish my
chapter. Just at that moment we heard your guitar and your voice. Ah! my
dear, you have no idea of the effect that produced on us! You were an
Orpheus, a demigod!--‘Not in bed yet!’ we shouted all together, and in
an instant I was out of bed; I put on the petticoat of modesty, because
love of reading shouldn’t carry one so far as to go about naked, and I
ran to the door and opened it; but I hadn’t taken two steps on the
landing when I felt someone seize my arm, and madame, who was watching
at the door, cried:
"‘Aha! so this is the way you sleep, mesdemoiselles! But I propose to
find out who it is that dares to leave the room in spite of my
orders--to light her candle, I suppose.--I knew too much to make any
answer. Madame called to Julie to come up with a light. I got away from
her; and while she stood in the doorway to keep me from going back, I
ran down to her apartment, put out the candles, and threw the matches
out of the window. So madame couldn’t find out who it was that came out,
and we passed the time feeling around for each other.--There! your
hair’s all done, my friend."
"Thank God!--I remember that you made noise enough.--I must wait till
they’re cold before I take them off.--Fifine! you’re a perfect devil!
But no matter--I love you sincerely, and if I should ever be rich like
Alfred----"
"Ah! then we should see some fine things, shouldn’t we?"
"Yes; you would see--In the first place, wealth wouldn’t make me any
different; it’s so absurd to be proud and self-satisfied just because
one has a few more yellow boys in one’s pocket! Does it increase one’s
merit? I ask you that, Fifine?"
"It is certain that if you were a millionaire, your eyes wouldn’t be any
larger."
"Bah! unkind girl! they are large enough to admire you.--Oh! stop that!"
"I have never heard you speak of this Alfred, whose party you are going
to."
"He’s a boarding-school friend; he always used to play leap-frog with
me. Since then, we have rather lost sight of each other; he is always in
his carriage or in the saddle, and I go on foot."
"That’s better for the health."
"Well, with all his fortune Alfred is bored. Anyone can see that he
doesn’t know what to do with himself. He is weary of pleasure; and then,
he’s a rake, a libertine, a man incapable of true love."
"For a friend of yours, you give him a pretty character!"
"A friend of mine! oh! simply a boarding-school acquaintance, I tell
you."
"Is he good-looking?"
"Yes, rather; that is to say, an ordinary face, but already worn and
lined."
"Introduce him to me."
Robineau rose with an offended air and went to the mirror to remove his
curl-papers.
"If I knew that he would make you happy, mademoiselle," he said, "I
certainly would not hesitate! But I doubt if you would find in Alfred
the profound and sincere affection which I feel for you."
"Dieu! my friend, how you do adore me to-night!"
"Because I’ve no carriage, you talk jestingly of abandoning me. But just
let me get wealthy, and my only revenge will be to give you a
magnificent country house."
"You must supply it with rabbits, understand, because I am very fond of
rabbit stew. But meantime, while monsieur goes to his dance, I’m going
to trim a cap."
"Downstairs?"
"No, upstairs."
"Is the shop closed already?"
"What, at nine o’clock? Don’t you follow the example of those evil
tongues across the street, who say that the best part of our business is
done when the shop is closed. Pretty shopkeepers they are, to talk about
other people! The chief partner is bargaining for a place as box-opener
at a theatre."
"There! How does my hair look?"
"Delicious, my friend! You’ll suffocate all rivals."
"Oh! all I care for is to be decent, presentable. You see, I make no
pretensions."
"That is why you stand hours in front of your glass, practising smiles."
"For you alone, Fifine.--Ah! now where are my gloves?"
"I say, there’ll be a supper, no doubt, where you’re going? Bring me
something."
"You expect me to put ices in my pocket, I suppose?"
"There’ll be other things besides ices; I want you to bring me some
sweetmeats, or I’ll never put on curl-papers for you again."
"All right--we will see."
"Is monsieur going very far?"
"Rue du Helder."
"The milords’ quarter!--You mean to take a cab, no doubt?"
"I surely shan’t go on foot in this costume.--Let me see--it’s half past
nine; I shall be at the Baron de Marcey’s at quarter to ten. That will
do."
"Then it wasn’t worth while to make such a terrible fuss, my friend."
"There’s a cabstand almost in front of the house. I wonder if you would
be kind enough to go down with me and call one?"
"That’s it; the only thing left for me to do will be to ride behind. But
no matter; this is one of my good-natured days; forward!"
Robineau locked his door; Fifine went downstairs with him and called a
cab, into which Robineau jumped after pressing the young milliner’s hand
affectionately. She watched him go and called to him once more:
"Don’t forget to bring me something good!"
III
RECEPTION AT THE BARON DE MARCEY’S.--A SUPPER PARTY OF YOUNG MEN AND ITS
RESULTS
The cab halted in front of a handsome hôtel. There was a long line of
private carriages waiting to enter the courtyard; one would have thought
that they were taking their owners to the Bouffes, or to see the English
actors. There is not so large an audience at the Français when they are
playing Molière or Racine; but our actors have not made a special study
of the death agony of a moribund; they do not exhibit to us all the
dying convulsions of a man who is being murdered, nor make us hear all
the hiccoughs of a princess who is starving to death; those pretty
little episodes are very pleasant to witness, they excite the nerves of
people who need such tableaux to arouse the slightest emotion. And yet
there are some people who claim that it is more difficult to act well a
scene from _Tartufe_ or _Le Misanthrope_, than to imitate a scene from
the Place de Grève. But let us allow every one to follow his or her
taste, and let us be content to congratulate him who still enjoys a play
that does not last forty years, and who is moved by a scene in which no
one dies.
When he saw the throng of carriages and the brilliantly lighted salons,
Robineau said to himself:
"This will be a very numerous, very fashionable and very well assorted
affair!"
He at once alighted from his cab, and hurried toward the entrance,
passing his hand over his curls and putting on his second glove. Then he
went up to the first floor, reflecting thus:
"After all, I am as good as all these people--better perhaps. Even if
they do have carriages--what difference does it make to me?"