to know? Do you think I'm a thief, a pickpocket? I had a hat and a cane,
and on leaving a ball I took a hat and a cane. They're not the ones that
belong to me; I made a mistake, I was in error, and that may happen to
anybody--_errare humanum est_, do you understand? No, you don't
understand; never mind. But to carry away anything to which I have no
right--fie! for shame!--To prove that I wouldn't do such a thing--I
found a glove, and I returned it. Let me tell you, madame, that a man
may be without money, have debts, borrow and not pay, and even play
cards on his word--for if I had lost last night, I shouldn't have been
able to pay on the spot; but all those things don't prevent one's being
an honest man."
"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Cherami, I don't say they do; you go off all of a
sudden, like a spitfire!"
"Last night, I confess, I had dined very well. I wasn't drunk; I never
get drunk; I was simply a little confused, which fully explains all
these mistakes; and now, I feel as if I could take something."
"Would you like to have me make you a nice onion soup, while you're
getting up? There's nothing that'll set you up better, the day after a
spree."
"Onion soup! I do not disdain that dish; but I am tempted to look
higher, and I believe that a good chicken---- But what's all that noise?
I should say that a carriage was stopping in front of the hotel! Go and
look, my dear hostess."
Madame Louchard went to the window.
"Yes, it is," she said; "a handsome private cabriolet, with a fine
dapple-gray horse, and a groom in livery! And there's a young dandy
getting out; he's looking at the house; he's coming in; it must be for
me."
"For you? Oh! no, it's for me, by all the devils! It must be that young
husband, and here am I still in bed! I must dress at the double-quick."
Cherami jumped out of his bed, in his nightshirt; whereupon Madame
Louchard instantly took flight, crying:
"I don't like this sort of thing, Monsieur Cherami; I told you not to
get up before me. And a man who don't wear drawers, too!"
"Aha! my dear hostess, it would seem that you risked a glance! Oh! these
women! they are all descended from Lot's wife! It's a pity that they're
not changed into salt nowadays at every indiscretion; that would make a
handsome reduction in the price of that product!"
XVIII
A DUEL WITHOUT WITNESSES
It was, in fact, Monsieur Monleard who had alighted from the cabriolet,
and, having scrutinized the exterior of the furnished lodging-house, had
ventured into the rather gloomy hall of that establishment. There he
looked in vain for the concierge; but the proprietor often served in
that capacity, and it was she herself who hastily descended the stairs.
"Do you know a certain Monsieur Cherami in this house, madame?"
"Yes, monsieur; indeed I know him, as he's my tenant."
"Ah! very good. Would you kindly direct me to his room?"
"Second floor, second door on the right."
"Do you think that I shall find him?"
"Certainly, monsieur; for I just left him, and he was just going to get
up."
"Thanks! Pardon me, madame; a word or two more, if you please."
"As many as you want, monsieur; I'm in no hurry."
"I would be glad, madame, to obtain some information about this
gentleman: to know who he is, and what he does."
"Mon Dieu! it won't take long to tell you; he don't do anything, he
lives on his income; he's a man who used to be very rich, and who did as
so many others do--ran through his fortune with fast women; now, he's on
his uppers; for I guess the income isn't very heavy!"
"Exceedingly obliged, madame."
Monleard left Madame Louchard, and went up to Cherami's room. That
worthy was dressing behind his screen; but as it barely reached his
shoulders, he was perfectly able to see anybody who came in, and could
converse over the leaves of the article of furniture which encompassed
him.
"Monsieur Arthur Cherami?" said the fashionably dressed young man as he
entered.
"Present! here I am, monsieur. A thousand pardons for not being dressed;
but it will take me only a minute. Pray be kind enough to take a seat
while you wait."
"Thanks, I am not tired."
"Then, remain standing. You may do as you please.--Where the devil did I
put my false collar?"
"You divine the motive of my visit, monsieur, I fancy?"
"What! do I divine it? Why, I have been waiting for you, with some
impatience. But I said to myself: 'That gentleman will not come very
early, because, on the day after his wedding---- ' Ha! ha! I don't think
I need say any more."
"It has occurred to me, monsieur, that our duel might as well take place
without witnesses. The subject of our dispute is such a delicate one!
There are some things which one doesn't like to make a noise about; for
the world, which is unkind, as a general rule, sometimes makes a
mountain out of what was----"
"Only a mouse--_parturiens montes._ I am entirely of your opinion.--Ah!
I have my collar."
"Then, monsieur, you consent to fight with no other witness than my
servant?"
"Very gladly; I have already fought that way more than once."
"Thinking that you might have no weapons, monsieur, I brought two swords
and a pair of pistols with me."
"You did very well; for, as you foresaw, I am without weapons at this
moment. Ah! I used to have some beautiful ones in the old days! My
pistols were made by Devisme; I could bring down a fly at fifty yards;
but I had to let them go. What would you have? _Deus dederat, Deus
abstulit._--I will just put on my coat, and I am at your service."
"This is a most extraordinary individual," said Auguste Monleard to
himself as he listened.
The Latin with which Cherami sprinkled his discourse, and his air of
good-breeding, had modified the opinion he had formed of him; and he was
not sorry to learn that he was not about to fight with a man devoid of
breeding and education.
At last, Arthur came out from behind his screen, and saluted his
adversary with all the ease of a man of the world, saying:
"Now I am at your service."
"Very good, monsieur. Doubtless you are well acquainted with this
quarter, this neighborhood. It is entirely unfamiliar to me. Is there
any spot hereabout where we can fight comfortably--without having to
travel a couple of leagues to Vincennes or the Bois de Boulogne?"
"Wait a moment, while I think. We could go behind the Buttes
Saint-Chaumont; there are some quarries there, where no one would see
us. But it's rather hard to get there in a carriage; and then, too, the
ground's rather uneven, and sometimes there are some low-lived rascals
prowling about. But, pardieu! we have just what we want, close at hand.
In the next street there's a large vacant lot, on which they're going to
build, but the building isn't begun yet. No one ever passes through that
street; we shall be as retired as we should be in our own house."
"But can we get into the lot?"
"Yes, indeed. On the street there's nothing but a board fence, and
there's a gate in it. If there's anyone there, we'll say we are
architects; that will make it all right."
"And it's not far from here?"
"We shall be there in five minutes."
"In that case, monsieur, let us go. We will let my cabriolet follow us."
"That's right; and as we must avoid making a noise and attracting
attention, we will fight with swords, if you choose."
"With pleasure, monsieur."
Monleard and Cherami went down the stairs together. Madame Louchard, who
was standing at the hall-door, was very much puzzled when she saw her
tenant leave the house with the fashionably dressed owner of the
cabriolet; but she dared not ask him a question. Instead of turning
toward the main street of Belleville, the two men took a street which
ran behind the theatre of that suburb.
Walking side by side with the individual with whom he was to fight,
Monleard, more and more amazed by his adversary's courteous manners and
by his use of language which denoted familiarity with good society, said
to him after a while:
"We are going to fight a duel, monsieur; that is a settled thing, which
neither you nor I, I am sure, have any intention of avoiding."
"I agree with you, monsieur."
"But, before the duel takes place, will you not do me the favor to tell
me where you knew the lady whom I have married, and how long you have
known her?"
"It will give me very great pleasure to answer you. I have not the
slightest acquaintance with your wife, and I never saw her until
yesterday. First, when she alighted from her carriage at Deffieux's
restaurant; and again, when you were taking her away last night, and I
met you."
"But, in that case, monsieur, how do you explain the words you uttered:
'There's the faithless Fanny'? Was it a bet? Was it an insult?--And,
again, how did you know my wife's Christian name, since you did not know
her?"
"Mon Dieu! my dear monsieur, I can explain it all to you in a few words,
and you will say that events succeeded one another naturally enough.
When your young wife alighted from her carriage, a young man--a very
pretty fellow, on my word! but a perfect stranger to me--was standing
near me, in front of the restaurant. The poor fellow really made my
heart ache: he was in the depths of despair, he tore his hair--no, he
didn't go so far as that; but, what was worse, he insisted on accosting
the bride and making a scene. I remonstrated with him, I prevented his
doing it, and made him see that it would be in the worst possible taste
to cause such a scandal in the street."
"I thank you, monsieur. But the young man's name--do you know it?"
"He told me while we were dining; for we dined together, and he told me
the whole story of his love affair. I must hasten to add that there was
nothing in it which casts the slightest reflection on madame's honor.
But she allowed that young man to pay court to her, she flattered him
with the hope that she would marry him some day. But when you appeared,
the scales were very soon turned in your favor, and my poor lover was
given the mitten."
"Then the man who told you all this must have been Monsieur Gustave
Darlemont?"
"The very same; those are his names."
"Yes, I remember meeting him now and then at Monsieur Gerbault's, in the
first days of my intimacy with that family. You will agree,
monsieur,--for you seem well acquainted with society and its
customs,--that it is indiscreet, to say no more, for a young man who has
been kindly received by a respectable family, to go about telling of his
love affairs, his disappointed hopes, in short, all his affairs, to
someone whom he doesn't know, and whom he meets by chance in the
street."
"It was, perhaps, a little foolish, I admit; but we must excuse some
foolish performances in a lover. Poor Gustave adored your wife--he
adores her still. She flirted a bit with him."
"Monsieur!"
"Oh! bless my soul, all the women do it; I know that well enough; maids,
wives, and widows--before, during, and after--they always do it. It's
their original sin. Eve set the example by flirting with the serpent. To
try to cure them of that failing would be to attempt the impossible:
women are made that way. _Quid levius pluma? pulvis! Quid pulvere?
ventus! Quid vento? mulier! Quid muliere? nihil!_"
"But, monsieur, how did it happen that it was you, and not this Monsieur
Gustave, who indulged in that insulting exclamation?"
"For a very simple reason: Gustave wasn't there. After dining with me,
at the same restaurant where you had your wedding banquet, for he was
absolutely determined to speak to your wife, to bid her a last
farewell----"
"The impertinent wretch! if he had dared!"
"Oh! mon Dieu! you wouldn't have known anything about it. The women do
so many things that we don't know! But a certain uncle made his
appearance--a gentleman who doesn't joke, and who hasn't an amiable
manner every day. He dragged his nephew away, deaf to his prayers and
lamentations--and poor Gustave had to go, without a sight of his
faithless Fanny.--I beg your pardon, but that's the expression he always
used in speaking of madame your wife; and that is why that exclamation
escaped me last night, when I saw her on your arm. Now you know the
whole story. Faith! here we are; see, this is the board fence about the
vacant lot. We can go in here; there's a solution of continuity. Not so
much as a cat, inside or out; this is delightful. You can get the swords
from your servant."
Monleard, having taken the swords from his groom, ordered him to stay by
the cabriolet; then he and Cherami entered the vacant lot, which had
been made ready for building, but as yet contained nothing but stone.
They soon reached a spot where there was nothing to embarrass them;
there they removed their coats and stood at guard. By the way in which
Cherami stood, the young dandy saw at once that he had to do with an
expert fencer; and, as he was himself well skilled in the use of the
sword, he was not sorry to meet an adversary worthy of his steel.
But after one or two passes, one or two deftly parried attacks, Monleard
realized that he had before him an antagonist of the first order; and
that he must needs exert his utmost talent and strength to gain the
advantage. He had expected to have done with his opponent in a few
thrusts; his self-esteem was touched by the necessity of defending
himself. He attacked with an impetuosity which sometimes made him forget
to be prudent; and Cherami, who fought as coolly as if he were playing
shuttlecock, said to him from time to time:
"Take care, you are making mistakes, you'll run on my sword, you strike
down too much! I give you warning; it won't be my fault. Ah! what did I
tell you?"
Monleard, attacking awkwardly, had received a thrust in the arm, and the
wound was so painful that he had to drop his sword.
"Enough, I am beaten!" said the young man, struggling to conceal his
suffering. "But you are a skilful fencer, monsieur."
"Yes, I am somewhat expert with the foils. Wait a moment; let me take
your handkerchief and bind up the wound, to stop the blood. Then we'll
make a sling with your black silk cravat."
"I am extremely obliged, monsieur; a thousand pardons for the trouble I
am causing you."
"Why, between honorable men, this is the way it should always be: when
the fight's over, shake hands. It's a pity the sword went in so far, or
we might have breakfasted together."
"Oh! I am forced to admit that that would be quite impossible."
"Yes, I understand. You are in for a fortnight of it, perhaps three
weeks. There's a lot of muscles in the arm, that are as obstinate as the
devil about getting well. Are you strong enough to walk to your
cabriolet, leaning on me? Shall I call your groom?"
"Oh! there's no need; I can walk with your assistance."
"Take my arm, and don't be afraid to lean on it."
Monleard succeeded, although suffering intensely, in reaching his
carriage, which Cherami assisted him to enter, after putting the swords
inside. Then, saluting his adversary, who thanked him again, Cherami
walked away, saying:
"Delighted to have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance!"
XIX
A SALON IN THE CHAUSSEE D'ANTIN
Three weeks after the marriage of Fanny Gerbault and the brilliant
Auguste Monleard, the exceedingly handsome salon of a house on Rue
Neuve-des-Mathurins contained, about nine o'clock in the evening, a
company in which, although small in numbers, we shall find several
persons of our acquaintance.
First of all, this young woman seated on a _causeuse_, beside a lovely
table of Chinese lacquer, and working carelessly upon a piece of
embroidery, is the newly made bride, Fanny, now Madame Monleard, in a
charming gown of the sort one wears at home, to receive a few friends;
she has no other head-dress than her own hair, which is arranged with
much taste, the back hair being braided and wound about the head, like a
crown.
Marriage has not impaired the young woman's beauty; her complexion is
fresh and rosy, her eyes gleam with greater animation, and about her
lips plays a smile of satisfaction, almost of beatitude, except,
however, when her eyes happen to fall upon a newspaper which lies on the
table, open at the page containing the transactions on the Bourse, and
the stock quotations. At such times, her brows contract slightly, and
her lips close; but that feeling of vexation soon disappears, the
charming Fanny turns her eyes elsewhere, and her face resumes its
amiable and contented expression.
A short distance away, another young woman is sitting at the piano,
turning over the leaves of a volume of music. It is Adolphine, Fanny's
sister. You know already that her hair is not so black as her sister's,
and that her eyes are a little smaller, which fact does not prevent
Adolphine from being a charming person; above all, there is on her face
a sweet and melancholy expression, which always attracts, and arouses
interest. A little taller than her sister, Adolphine has a slender,
elegant figure; her walk is always graceful. Pretty women have this
peculiarity in common with cats, that there is in their slightest
movements an indefinable fascination; and this quality is not the
attribute of the most coquettish only, but equally of those in whom
grace of movement is entirely natural.
For some time past, Adolphine's melancholy had almost become sadness;
her eyes were often fixed on the ground, and she would sit for hours
buried in thought, which, if one could judge by the expression of her
features, was not concerned with pleasant memories. Suddenly, she would
emerge from her abstraction, and, as if ashamed of having abandoned
herself to her reveries, would glance hastily about, to see if anyone
had noticed her; and would strive to smile, in order to conceal the
thoughts with which her heart was occupied; but her smile was never very
real, and her merriment was like her smile.
Beyond the piano was a card-table, at which four persons were playing
the inevitable whist. First, there was a lady evidently on the wrong
side of forty, but who had once been very pretty, and who still produced
a brilliant effect by artificial light, thanks to an extremely careful
toilet, in which were employed all those invaluable cosmetics which help
to prevent a lady from appearing old. Furthermore, Madame de
Mirallon--such was her name--wore diamonds of very great value at her
neck and in her ears. But those who claim that diamonds embellish a
woman are entirely mistaken; we should say simply that they enrich her;
and, in this connection, we may well remember the remark of Apelles:
"You make her rich, because you cannot make her beautiful."
At this lady's right was a man of about fifty years, with an intelligent
and distinguished face, somewhat cold and reserved in manner, but
unimpeachably courteous, even when, in the course of conversation, he
indulged in a stinging retort. He spoke but little, however, and his
dress and bearing were perfectly consonant with his age. He was Monsieur
Clairval.
Opposite him was a young man, neither handsome nor ugly, but dressed
with extreme care, and with a head of hair worthy to figure in a
wig-maker's show-window. It should be said that the young dandy was the
proud possessor of a forest of chestnut locks, a fertile field for the
invention of a hair-dresser. Monsieur Anatole de Raincy--such was the
young man's name--played cards in straw-colored gloves, moulded to a
pair of tiny hands of which he seemed to be very proud, and which he
kept always in evidence. To complete the portrait, we must add a small
light chestnut moustache, eyeglasses, and a constant lisp in his speech.
The fourth whist player, who was the lady's partner, was a man about
forty years old, a faded blonde, with a conceited and idiotic air; a
doll's face, from which protruded a pair of great eyes which were always
rolling from side to side with an astonished expression--an expression
which never varied. He bowed whenever anyone spoke to him, and found a
way to pay compliments to everybody, accompanying his speeches with a
conventional smile, which he retained even when he was listening to
others; all of which may afford you in anticipation an accurate idea of
the ingenuousness of this individual, whose name was Batonnin.
An old beau, of at least sixty years, but who affected the dress, the
gait, and all the manners of a young man, fluttered about the table,
dancing attendance on the ladies; his face alone persisted in betraying
his age, although its owner did his utmost to avoid the scrutiny of the
curious. But his cheeks, which had fallen in on account of the loss of
his teeth, a very long nose, purple at the end, and an assortment of
wrinkles which streaked his temples, made it impossible for that face to
create an illusion. As for the hair, it was of a fine, glossy black,
which proved that he wore a wig.
Such was Monsieur le Comte de la Beriniere, a venerable dandy, who still
possessed a handsome fortune, although he had consumed a portion of his
means by living like a prince, and paying assiduous court to the fair
sex. Monsieur de la Beriniere's great fault was his obstinate belief
that he was still young and fascinating, and his consequent persistence
in seeking to make conquests. However, being descended from an
illustrious family, and having all the manners of a grand seigneur, the
count, albeit he had not overmuch intelligence, had, at all events, the
merit of being always amiable and cheerful; and, as we see, he had never
chosen to meddle with any but the attractive features of life. We may
add that he had never married.
The count left the whist table, and, approaching Madame Monleard,
examined her embroidery.
"Ah! what pretty work that is you are doing, belle dame! Why, you seem
to possess all the talents!"
"Mon Dieu! I haven't so very many!"
"Is it a rug you're making?"
"No; it's a design for a footstool."
"What a lucky dog Monleard is! He has married a treasure!"
"You exaggerate, monsieur le comte."
"No, I say what I think; and if I had known you earlier---- Oh! I know
what I'd have done! Ah! Dieu!"
"What a sigh! Ha! ha! ha!"
"It makes you laugh to hear me sigh?"
"Why, what other effect should it have on me?"
"Ah! women are cruel sometimes. But, no matter! if I had known you
before Monleard, I would have solicited the honor of making you Comtesse
de la Beriniere."
"What nonsense!"
"Oh! I am not joking. But fate willed otherwise. And I say again that
Monleard is a lucky dog.--By the way, how is his arm?"
"It is improving slowly; he can't use it yet."
"It's a long while getting well.--And to think that that accident
happened the very day after your wedding!"
"Yes, the next day."
"He fell on the stairs, I believe?"
"Yes, he slipped, and fell on his arm."
"For heaven's sake, Monsieur de la Beriniere, do come and advise my
partner, Monsieur Batonnin. Upon my word, he's been making mistake after
mistake!"
"It must be my pleasure in playing with you, madame, that distracts me,"
rejoined the little man with the protruding eyes, bowing to his partner.
"In that case, monsieur, moderate your pleasure, I entreat you, and
don't trump my kings any more."
The count regretfully quitted the young bride and returned to the
card-table, saying:
"But monsieur doesn't need my advice; he plays very well."
"Oh! you are too good, monsieur!"
"I am well aware that Monsieur de la Beriniere prefers to pay court to
the ladies rather than watch the game!" rejoined Madame de Mirallon, in
a tone which she intended to be ironical, but in which there was a
slight tincture of mortification; "but he can afford to spare us a few
moments."
"Whatever is agreeable to you, I will do, madame."
"Indeed! But it did not suit your pleasure to join our game?"
"Madame, if you would kindly attend to your play----"
"Oh! Monsieur Clairval is so severe!"
"No, madame; but we don't usually talk when we're playing whist."
"Mon Dieu! if one must never say a word---- Ah! Monsieur Batonnin, that
is too cruel! Don't you remember my signal?"
"I beg your pardon, madame; but no man is required to do the
impossible."
"I don't understand proverbs."
"That means," observed the count, with a laugh, "that monsieur has no
club."
"That makes no difference; his game was to play one."
"Let us put our cards on the table, and play that way; it will be
simpler," interposed Monsieur Clairval.
"I had thutht ath lief; I played that way onth, a three-handed game with
a dummy."
"Monsieur de Raincy, I might justly complain, as well as madame; but I
see that this is an evening of absent-mindedness."
"Why, what did I do wrong. I don't thee----"
"Oh! I shall tell you later."
"I flatter mythelf that I play a fine game of whitht."
"You are quite right!"