thin blonde is too much like a feather-duster."
"Blonde? Fanny is dark! You made a mistake, monsieur; it wasn't the
bride that you saw."
"It wasn't the bride that I saw? Oh! I beg your pardon, monsieur; I
can't be mistaken, for I talked with the groom's uncle, whom I know very
well, Papa Blanquette, wholesale linen-draper."
"Blanquette! I beg your pardon, monsieur; the party you saw isn't the
one I am expecting."
"Faith! it's not my fault. You ask me if a wedding party has arrived at
this restaurant, and I tell you what I've seen. It seems that that isn't
the one you are looking for; pray be more explicit, then."
"Oh! monsieur, pardon me; it's no wonder that I make mistakes, I am in
such agony!"
"Agony? The deuce! In truth, you are very pale. Where's the pain?"
"In my heart!"
"The heart? Why, in that case, you must take something. Come with me to
a cafe; I know what you need; I often have a pain in my heart."
"No, no! I won't leave this spot until I have seen her--the perfidious,
faithless creature!"
"You are waiting for a faithless creature, eh? That ought not to prevent
your taking something to set you up. You are horribly pale; you'll be
ill in a moment. When one is waiting for a perfidious female, one needs
strength, courage, nerve! Come and take a plate of soup; there's a
soup-kitchen close by."
"Ah! here they are! here they are! Yes, I am sure that these are they; I
know it by the way I feel. Look, monsieur; do you see those carriages on
the boulevard?"
"Yes, this seems to be another wedding party. Peste! this is evidently a
swell affair."
"The carriages are coming here--do you see, monsieur?"
"Glass coaches, with footmen in livery!--this goes away ahead of the
Blanquette party."
"They are stopping here. Come, let us go nearer."
"Yes, yes. Oh! never fear; I'll not leave you. Is your unfaithful one
there?"
"Fanny! She has married another--and I loved her so dearly!"
"Poor boy! I understand your suffering, now."
"Oh! I would like to die before her eyes."
"No nonsense! As if any man ought to die for a woman! Pshaw! there's
nothing so easy to replace!"
The first carriage of this second wedding party had stopped at the door;
four young men alighted, fashionably dressed all, and of genteel
bearing. One of the four was evidently the hero of the ceremony; it was
he who gave the orders, sent his groomsmen to the other carriages, or
told them to whom they were to offer their arms. He was a little older
than the others, apparently about thirty, and his life had evidently
been well occupied, for his strongly marked, but jaded, features denoted
excess of toil or of dissipation. He was a good-looking fellow, tall and
slender, with an air of distinction; but there were dark rings around
his great, brown eyes, his lips were thin and compressed, his smile was
rather satirical than amiable, his forehead was already furrowed by
numerous wrinkles, and he frowned repeatedly when he spoke with the
slightest animation; his hair, which was of a glossy black and trimmed
close, was already decidedly thin in front, and scarcely plentiful
enough elsewhere to protect the top of his head.
"That's he! that's Auguste Monleard!" the young man to whom Cherami had
attached himself murmured, with a shudder; and, as he spoke, he gripped
his companion's arm in a sort of frenzy. But Cherami, far from
complaining of that liberty, passed his arm through his new
acquaintance's, saying:
"Ah! that young man is Auguste Monleard, is he? Wait! wait! Monleard; I
knew a Monleard, twenty years ago, but this can't be the same man. Is he
the groom?"
"Yes; it is for him that she has forgotten me, thrown me aside."
"She is wrong. That young man is good-looking, but you are younger; and
then, too, that fellow looks to me as if he had had a devilishly
intimate acquaintance with the joys of life!--I don't impute it to him
as a crime--but he'll soon have to wear a wig."
"Ah! I am strongly inclined to go and strike him across the face!"
The young man had already started to attack the bridegroom; but Cherami
detained him, putting his arm about him.
"What are you going to do? make a fool of yourself? I won't allow it.
Well-bred people don't fight with their fists. If you want to fight with
the groom, very good; I consent, I will even be your second; but you
have plenty of time, and you must agree that this would be an ill-chosen
moment."
The poor, lovelorn youth was not listening; another carriage had stopped
in front of the restaurant. In that one there were ladies, among them
the bride, who was easily recognizable by her head-dress of orange
blossoms. She was a young woman of small stature, slender and dainty.
Her hair was brown like her eyes, which were large, fringed by long
lashes, and surmounted by slight but perfectly arched eyebrows. Her
mouth was small and intelligent; she rarely showed her teeth, because
they were uneven. She was an attractive woman, nothing more; a man must
have been deeply in love with her to declare that there was no lovelier
creature on earth. But for a man who is deeply enamored, there is but
the one woman on earth; consequently, she must be the fairest. The
bride's most remarkable points were her hands and feet, which were
extraordinarily small, and worthy to be a sculptor's model.
The groom stepped forward to offer his arm to his wife, to assist her to
alight. She barely rested her hand upon it, and, light as a feather, she
was already on the ground, where she seemed busily occupied in looking
to see if her dress had been rumpled in the carriage.
"There she is! it is she! it is Fanny!" murmured the young man, leaning
heavily on Cherami.
"She doesn't look to me at all as if she'd been crying," was the reply.
"Mon Dieu! can it be that she will not look in this direction?"
"What's the use? She would see that you are pale and distressed, with
the look of a disinterred corpse; that's no way to appear before a
woman, to make her regret you."
"She would see how I suffer; she would realize that I shall die of
grief!"
"I promise you that that wouldn't prevent her dancing this evening. I am
a good judge of faces, and I divine that that woman has a cold
disposition, heart ditto; there's very little feeling under that cover,
or I am immeasurably mistaken."
Meanwhile, other ladies had left their carriages, and numerous young
women, who flocked about the bride; one fastened a pin; another adjusted
the folds of her veil; another remade her bouquet; and while they
attended to these trivial details of the toilet, which are so momentous
in a woman's eyes, especially a bride's, she glanced here and there, and
soon her eyes fell upon the pale, dishevelled, heart-broken young man;
for he had thrust aside all those who stood in front of him and who
prevented him from gazing at his ease upon her for whom he had come
here.
A faint tremor of emotion passed over the bride's features; there was in
her eyes a momentary expression of pity, of sympathy; but it did not
indicate suffering on her own part; and as her husband, who had noticed
her preoccupation, hurried toward her at that moment, she speedily
changed her expression, assumed an amiable, joyous manner, and accepted
his arm with pretty, caressing little gestures.
Thereupon the young man, whom Cherami held by the arm, could not
restrain a paroxysm of rage, crying:
"Oh! this is frightful! not a glance of regret, of farewell, for me! She
sees my suffering, my despair, and she smiles at that man! and she walks
off on his arm, with joy and happiness in her eyes!"
X
THE YOUNGER SISTER
At that moment, one of the young women who had arrived in the bride's
carriage ran hastily to him whom the wedding party made so miserable,
and said to him in an undertone, but in a voice overflowing with
kindness and sympathy:
"Why are you here, Gustave? Why did you come? You promised me to be
brave."
"I am, mademoiselle; you see that I am--for I did not overwhelm the
false creature with reproaches, here, before her husband's face, before
her new relations!"
"Ah! that would have been very ill done of you; and how would it have
helped you? I implore you, Gustave, be reasonable.--Do not leave him,
monsieur, will you?"
The last question was addressed to Cherami, who hastened to reply:
"I! leave my dear Gustave in the state he's in now! I should think not!
What do you take me for, mademoiselle? I will cling to him as the ivy to
the elm. If he should throw himself into the water, I would follow him!
But, never fear; he won't do it. Oh! I am here to look out for him; he
has no more devoted friend than me."
At that moment, several voices called:
"Adolphine! Adolphine! do come!"
"They are looking for me and calling me," murmured the young woman.
"Adieu! Gustave; but if you have the slightest regard for me, you will
not abandon yourself to your grief. You won't, will you? I implore you!"
And the amiable young woman, as light of foot as a gazelle, disappeared
under the porte cochere, as did all the other persons whom the carriages
had brought.
"There's a little woman who pleases me exceedingly!" cried Cherami; "she
must be the bride's sister or cousin, at least. For my part, I think
that she's prettier than the bride. Perhaps her eyes aren't as big; but
they are sweet and tender and kind; and then, they are blue, which
always denotes true feeling: I have studied the subject. Her hair's not
as dark as the other's, but it's of a light shade of chestnut which does
not lack merit. Her mouth isn't so small, but neither are her lips so
thin and tightly shut as the bride's. Distrust thin lips; they're a sure
sign of malignity and hypocrisy. Lastly, she is less dainty than your
faithless Fanny, but she is taller; her figure has more distinction and
elegance. All in all, she is an exceedingly attractive person, this
Mademoiselle Adolphine; I say _mademoiselle,_ for I suppose that she
still is one. Have I guessed right?"
But Gustave was not listening to his new friend. He stood with his eyes
fixed on the door through which the wedding party had passed, apparently
under the spell of a vague hallucination.
Cherami shook his arm, saying:
"Well, my dear Monsieur Gustave--I know your name now, and I shall never
forget it; you probably have another, which you will tell me later.
Come, what do you propose to do? Everybody has gone inside; we two alone
are left at the door; the carriages have gone away, or are waiting on
Rue de Bondy, and you have seen what you wanted to see. I presume that
you do not intend to stay here until the wedding guests go home to bed;
that might carry you too far. Come, sacrebleu my dear friend--allow me
to call you by that name; I merit the privilege by the interest I take
in you--you heard what that fascinating young woman said, who came and
spoke to you with tears in her voice and her eyes--yes, may I be damned
if she hadn't tears in her eyes, too! She begged you, implored you, to
be brave, did the charming Adolphine--I remember her name, too. Well!
won't you do what she asked? What the devil are you waiting for in front
of this door? those people have all gone to dinner, and we must follow
their example and ourselves go and dine. I say _we_ must go, because I
promised the excellent Adolphine not to leave you, and, vive Dieu! I
will keep my promise! I am expected at a certain place, to eat a
truffled turkey; but there are truffled turkeys elsewhere, so that
doesn't trouble me. Well! what do you mean to do? You can't seduce a
woman by starving yourself to death."
"I want to speak to Fanny's sister."
"The bride's sister? Oh! I see, that's Mademoiselle Adolphine."
"Yes, she's the one I mean. I had many things to say to her, to ask her,
just now. I was so confused, I couldn't think, I had no time."
"You want to speak to that young lady again; that seems to me rather
difficult, for the whole party has gone in--unless--after all, why not?
This is a restaurant, and although there are several wedding parties
here, that doesn't prevent the restaurateur from entertaining all the
other people who come here to dinner. Come, let's dine here; what do you
think?"
"Oh! yes, yes! let us go in here and dine. We will ask for a private
room near the wedding party, and during the ball--or before--I can see
her again. I can speak to Adolphine."
"Pardieu! once there, we are in our castle; we will set up our
batteries, and no one has the right to send us away; we can sup there,
and breakfast to-morrow morning; so long as we eat, they will be
delighted to have us stay."
"Ah! monsieur, how kind you are to take an interest in my troubles, to
lend me your support, although you do not know me, do not know even who
I am!"
"Oh! I am a physiognomist, my dear friend. At the very outset, you
aroused my interest; besides, I love to oblige; I do nothing else! Let's
go and dine."
"We will ask where the Monleard party is, monsieur; we will take a room
on the same floor."
"Agreed! Let's go and dine."
"Without any apparent motive, I will question the waiter. Indeed, I can
speedily enlist him in my interest with a five-franc piece."
"He will be entirely devoted to you. Let's go and dine."
"I will tell him to place us as near as possible to the room where the
ladies are talking."
"But, sacrebleu! if we delay much longer, there'll be no vacant room
near your wedding party."
"You are right! Come, come!"
"At last!" said Cherami to himself, striding behind young Gustave; "this
time, I have my cue!"
XI
A CALCULATING YOUNG WOMAN
The five francs given by young Gustave to a waiter instantly produced a
most satisfactory result. He placed the new-comers in a private room on
the first floor, at the end of a corridor; and the large hall in which
Monsieur Monleard's wedding feast was to be given was at the other end
of the same corridor. Gustave would have preferred to be nearer the
scene of festivity, but that was impossible; and his companion persuaded
him that they were much better off at the end of the corridor, where
Mademoiselle Adolphine could, if she chose, come to exchange a few words
with him, unobserved by the wedding guests.
"And now, let us dine!" cried Cherami, hanging his hat on a hook; "I
will admit that I am hungry. All these events--your distress--your
despair--have moved me deeply, and emotion makes one hollow. You also
must feel the need of refreshment, for you are very pale."
"I am not at all hungry, monsieur."
"One isn't hungry at first; but afterward one eats very well. Besides,
we came here to dine, if I'm not mistaken."
"Look you, monsieur; have the kindness to order--ask for whatever you
choose--whatever you would like; but don't compel me to think about it."
"Very good; I agree. In truth, I am inclined to think that's the better
way! With your abstraction, your sighs, you would never be able to
order a dinner; you would order veal for fish, and radishes for prawns,
while I excel in that part of the game. You see, I have lived, and lived
well, I flatter myself! Some madeira first of all, waiter--and put some
Moet in the ice; meanwhile, I will make out our menu!"
The madeira having been brought, Cherami immediately drank two glasses
to restore the tone of his stomach; then he took the bill of fare, and
took pains to order the best of everything. The waiter, who scrutinized
our friend's costume while he was writing, would probably have displayed
less zeal in serving him, had not his companion begun by slipping five
francs into his hand. But that spontaneous generosity had given another
direction to the waiter's ideas, and he concluded that the gentleman
with the check trousers was a Scotchman who had not changed his
travelling costume.
While Cherami wrote his order, young Gustave was unable to sit still for
a moment; he went constantly to the door and took a few steps in the
corridor, then returned to question the waiter, to whose particular
attention Cherami commended his menu.
"Waiter, is the wedding party at table yet?"
"They sat down just a moment ago, monsieur."
"Above all things, don't have the fillet cooked too much."
"Never fear, monsieur."
"Where is the bride sitting?"
"At the middle of the table, monsieur."
"And well supplied with truffles."
"By whose side?"
"I think her father's on one side, monsieur."
"And on the other?"
"A salmon-trout."
"A lady, monsieur."
"If it isn't fresh, we won't take it."
"How is the lady's hair dressed?"
"She has lilies of the valley on her head."
"What's that! lilies of the valley on a salmon-trout! I never saw it
served so."
"Not the trout, monsieur; I was speaking of a lady--one of the wedding
party."
"And the groom, where is he sitting?"
"Opposite his wife, monsieur."
"Next, a capon _au gros sel._"
"Does he look at her often?"
"Done to a turn."
"Faith! monsieur, I didn't have time to notice as to that."
"What's that! Sapristi! you haven't time to tell the chef to cook it to
a turn?"
"Pardon, monsieur; monsieur was asking me about the bridegroom.--Now I
am at your service."
And the waiter, to escape these questions, which confused him, took the
menu and disappeared. Cherami poured out another glass of madeira,
saying to his new friend:
"Come, come, my dear Gustave; if you persist in imitating the bear of
Berne, by going from this room into the corridor, and returning from the
corridor to this room, you won't do yourself any good. You know that the
wedding party is at the table. Naturally, they will be there some time.
So follow their example. Take a seat opposite me, recover your
tranquillity, and let us dine. See, here's our soup, just in time,
exhaling a delicious odor. Allow me to help you."
The young man took his seat, and swallowed a few spoonfuls of soup; then
pushed his plate away, crying:
"No; it's impossible for me to eat anything."
"Very well! then talk to me. Look you, while I am eating, as you don't
choose to do the same, you have an excellent opportunity to tell me the
story of your loves--with the ungrateful Fanny."
"Oh! yes, monsieur, gladly. I will tell you all, and you will see if I
am wrong to complain of her inconstancy."
"Men are hardly ever wrong. Go on, my dear friend; tell me the whole
story; I shall not lose a word of your narrative, because one can listen
splendidly while eating."
"My name is Gustave Darlemont, and I am twenty-five years old. My
parents lived on their income; but in order to obtain the means to live
more expensively, they invested all their capital in an annuity."
"The devil! rather selfish parents, I should say. If everyone did the
same, the word _inheritance_ would be superfluous. Here's a fillet that
is worth its weight in gold. Just taste it."
"No, thanks, monsieur.--For my part, I find no fault with my parents for
doing as they did; they had earned their fortune by their own labor,
they had given me a good education: what more could I ask?"
"You are delightful! Pardieu! you could ask for money. Let me give you
some of this Chateau-Leoville.--It's cool and sweet--it will refresh
your ideas. Go on, I beg."
"My parents died, and from what they left me in furniture, jewels, and
plate, I had an income of twelve hundred francs."
"A mere trifle! that's not enough to pay one's tailor. To be sure,
there's the alternative of not paying him at all."
"I was then seventeen; I didn't know just what business to embrace."
"And, pending your decision, you embraced all the pretty girls who came
to hand. I know all about that."
"Oh! no, monsieur; I was very virtuous; I have never been what is called
a lady's man."
"So much the worse, young man; so much the worse! There's nothing like
women for training the young. You may say that they overtrain them
sometimes. But think of the experience they acquire! I might cite myself
as an example; but we haven't come to me yet. Go on, my young
friend--for I am your friend. Although Aristotle said: 'O my friends,
there are no friends!' I maintain that there are. And that's simply a
play upon words by the Greek philosopher, to whom, had I been Philip, I
would not have intrusted the education of my son Alexander, because of
that one assertion.--But I beg your pardon; I am listening."
"Luckily, I had an uncle, Monsieur Grandcourt, my mother's brother. He
took me into his family. He is rather an original, but kind and
obliging. He is not an old man: only about forty-eight now."
"So much the worse, so much the worse! You certainly have hard luck in
the matter of inheritances. Is this uncle of yours rich?"
"Not rich perhaps, but very comfortably fixed, I fancy."
"What does he do?"
"He's a banker."
"Everybody is, more or less."
"Oh! my uncle is a prudent man, who never risks his money in doubtful
speculations; he is noted for the exactitude with which he fulfils his
engagements, and for his absolute probity."
"Good! there's a man to whom I will intrust my funds, when I have more
than I can handle."
"So I entered my uncle's employ as a clerk. I was very happy there. We
often went to the theatre, to concerts, and to the best restaurants; and
my uncle always paid."
"Pardieu! it would have been a fine thing if the nephew had had to stand
treat! However, I see that your uncle's not a miser; he likes to enjoy
himself. That's the kind of an uncle I like. I shall be glad to make his
acquaintance."
"I have now arrived, monsieur, at the moment which changed the whole
course of my life, which made me acquainted with a sentiment of whose
power I had thus far been entirely ignorant. For, while I had had a few
amourettes, I had never known a genuine passion. Ah! monsieur! the
instant that I saw Fanny, I felt as if my heart were born to a new life;
I was no longer the same. No, until then I had not lived!"
"That's a common sort of talk with lovers. They never have lived before
their frantic passion,--the ingrates!--and they often forget the
happiest days of their youth.--Ah! here's our salmon-trout--a delicious
fish! You will surely taste a mouthful?"
"My uncle had bought some shares in the Orleans railway for Monsieur
Gerbault, Fanny's father. He gave them to me to deliver to him. Monsieur
Gerbault was not at home. Fanny received me, and invited me to wait till
her father returned. We talked; I was amazed to hear that young girl
discuss affairs at the Bourse quite as intelligently as a broker could
do."
"And that was what fascinated you?"
"Oh! no, monsieur. But while Fanny was talking to me, I examined her.
Her eyes were bright and intelligent; her smile was charming. Her whole
person was instinct with a childish grace which fascinated me, and a
perfect naturalness which put me at my ease at once. Before I had been
with her half an hour, you would have thought that we were old friends.
I took the greatest pleasure in listening to her, and I think that she
perceived it, for she was never at a loss for something to say. Her
father returned, and I was terribly sorry. Monsieur Gerbault is a very
courteous old man. He smiled at me when he heard his daughter ask me the
prices of all the different securities, and said:
"'It's very unfortunate for Fanny that women are not allowed on the
Bourse, for I believe she would go there every day; she has a very
pronounced taste for speculation; I dare not say for gambling, for I
hope that it won't go so far as that. However, monsieur, she has five or
six thousand francs, and so has her sister; it comes from their mother.
Adolphine has very wisely invested her funds in government securities;
but Fanny--oh! she's a different sort! she wants to speculate, to buy
stocks, and she will probably lose her money.'
"'Why so, father, I should like to know?' said Fanny; 'why shouldn't
luck be favorable to me? Besides, I don't mean to buy anything on
margin, but only for cash; I shall keep what I buy, and not sell until I
can sell at a profit. It seems to me that that is easy enough, and that
there's no need of being a clerk in a broker's office to understand the
operation. With my six thousand francs I could only get a miserable
little income; why shouldn't I try to increase my principal?'
"'As you please,' said Monsieur Gerbault; 'you are perfectly at liberty
to dispose of what belongs to you.'