always to show us the truth, that may carry you rather far! That
goddess's costume is a little scanty, or rather she has none at all. She
appears to the world quite naked! I would like to see you go out in the
street in that condition, for love of the truth. I fancy that a police
officer wouldn't listen to that excuse. Look you, monsieur, it has often
been said that it isn't always well to tell the truth; we might add that
it isn't always well to see it. In general, a man is wise to conceal his
infirmities, his deformities, and whatever he may have that is
unpleasant to look at; he does well to make himself as attractive, or as
little unattractive, as possible. To embellish, to seek to please, such
seems to be the purpose of nature, everywhere and in everything. Look at
a mother with her child: her first care is to dress it up, to try to
embellish it. Women are born with the instinct of coquetry; men have it,
too, although the rush and hurry of business compels them to pay less
heed to their persons. When you take lodgings, your first care is to
make them attractive; if you have a garden, you embellish it by planting
flowers in it; if you give a dinner party, you want it to be stylish,
sumptuous, enriched by handsome plate.--For instance, see this thin
glass from which I am drinking my claret: it improves the wine,
monsieur; it makes it taste better--for the wine would seem much less
delicious to me if it were served in a preserve-jar. And take your own
case--would you have liked it if they had brought you your grog in a
wash-basin, eh?--Deuce take me! I believe the little fellow isn't
listening!" exclaimed Cherami, suddenly interrupting his dissertation.
"Where in the world have I seen that face?--Waiter! my coffee!"
As he threw himself back on the bench, Cherami knocked his cane against
his neighbor. Whereupon the latter turned, and pushed the cane away,
muttering:
"Have you made a wager to annoy me?"
"What's that! a wager--just because my cane slipped against you? I say,
my dear monsieur, who are so attached to the truth, you're very touchy,
aren't you?"
The bald man made no reply; as he pushed the cane away, he had glanced
at it, and from that moment he kept his eyes fixed upon it.
"Ah! you are admiring my cane now?" said Arthur; "you begin to
understand that it would have been a pity to break it!--It's very neat."
Still the bald man made no reply, but raised his eyes and examined the
hat which its owner had hung on a hook. He scrutinized it so carefully
that Cherami lost patience, and said to himself:
"Well, well! what's the matter with this creature! How much longer is he
going to stare at my hat and cane? He's beginning to make me very
weary."
XXVII
THE CANE AND THE HAT
At last, the little man made up his mind to speak:
"That cane, monsieur--with that agate head; it's very singular!"
"You find that my cane has a singular look? Distinguished, you mean, I
doubt not?"
"Why, monsieur, the fact is, that that cane--the more I look at it--a
rattan--exactly!--and the hat, too--the same kind of a band--very
broad----"
"Tell me, monsieur--when you have finished, will you very kindly explain
yourself?" said Cherami. He began to suspect who his companion was, but
he did not choose to let it appear.
"This is how it is, monsieur: I had a cane exactly like this one--so
much like it that I could swear it was the same one."
"We see canes that look just alike, every day, monsieur; there's nothing
extraordinary in that; there are many men who are mistaken for one
another, and yet there is an expression, an animation, on a man's face
which you would seek in vain on the head of a cane."
"Excuse me, monsieur; but all canes haven't an agate head cut like this
one."
"If they had, they would be too common, and I wouldn't want one."
"Well, monsieur, I lost my cane and my hat at a wedding party which I
attended about two months ago; that is to say, I didn't positively lose
them, but they were exchanged--and I didn't gain by the change! In place
of my hat, which had a band exactly like this--very broad--and the same
shape--they left a pitiful, disgraceful thing; and I was obliged to buy
a new one the next day; and in place of my cane I found a sort of
switch, of the kind they beat clothes with--not worth six sous!"
"Corbleu! monsieur, what do you mean to imply by all this? This cane
that you lost, with an agate head--and your hat with a band like
this--do you know that I am beginning to lose my temper? Do you mean to
say that I stole your cane?"
"No, monsieur--but----"
"Then you insult me, and I will not brook an insult!--When we leave this
cafe, we will go and cut each other's throats, like a couple of young
dandies!"
"Never, monsieur; not by any means! I am mistaken, monsieur; I am wrong.
No, no, it isn't my cane--let it be as if I had said nothing; I beg your
pardon."
The little bald man, trembling like a leaf, seemed inclined to disappear
under the table at which he was seated. Cherami, having reflected two or
three minutes, looked at him with an affable expression, and said:
"Didn't you lose something else at the party you mentioned just now."
"Something else? yes, I did, monsieur; I was in bad luck that night!
When I arrived at the ball, I had lost one of my gloves--a yellow glove.
To be sure, it was returned to me later--but in such a state!"
"Ah! now I understand! I recognize you now!"
"You recognize me?"
"To be sure--you are Monsieur Courbichon."
"That's my name, sure enough! But how----?"
"Pardieu! we met at our friend Blanquette's little party. Dear Monsieur
Courbichon! I have been looking for you a long while!"
"You have been looking for me, monsieur? For what, pray?"
"For what? Why, to return your cane."
"But, monsieur, I don't know whether----"
"And your hat too, if you insist upon it; but, as the one you have now
is newer, you would lose again by the change. But the cane is certainly
yours; do you consider me capable of keeping something that doesn't
belong to me,--that is in my possession only as the result of a
mistake?"
"Ah! monsieur, I am sensible----"
"You understand, of course, that before returning this cane, which I
carried away by mistake from my friend Blanquette's party, I wished to
be sure of returning it to its owner and no one else. Have you my
switch?"
"No, monsieur; I haven't it--I don't even know what has become of it."
"Bigre! I am very sorry for that. You thought, I suppose, that it was
just a common switch; you didn't see that it was a _nerf de boeuf_,
which came from China, where they make a great many canes of that
material, because it bends and never breaks. You value it at six sous,
but it was worth forty francs."
"Oh! if I had known that----"
"You'd have taken more care of it. However, that's a trifling mishap.
You pay for what I have eaten, and we will dine together; then we shall
be quits."
"What, monsieur, you propose----"
"Pray take your cane; it's a fascinating thing! Everybody stared at it.
Dear Courbichon! I am delighted to have returned it to you; but I
greatly regret my Chinese switch! Such is very rare in Paris. Very few
like it come here from China.--I say, waiter, how much do I owe?"
"Seven francs fifty, monsieur."
"Very good. Monsieur here will attend to it."
Monsieur Courbichon did not seem overjoyed to pay for his neighbor's
breakfast; however, he did it. They left the cafe together, and, when
they were on the boulevard, Cherami passed his arm through that of the
owner of the cane, saying:
"Where shall we go now?"
"Faith! monsieur, I had intended to go for a stroll on the
Champs-Elysees. It's a fine day, and near the end of September; we must
make the most of these last good days. And then, I am very fond of
watching them play bowls."
"Very good! that suits me--that suits me to the very tick: let us go to
the Champs-Elysees, and see them play bowls. Walking helps the
digestion; it gives one an appetite. We will dine there; I know all the
good restaurants on the Champs-Elysees. Oh! never fear, Papa Courbichon,
you are with a buck who knows what good living is!"
"I don't doubt it, monsieur, but----"
"Sapristi! what a pretty cane! everybody admires it as they pass. It
must have cost a lot?"
"I cannot tell you, monsieur; it's a present from my nephew."
"Ah, indeed! I was just saying to myself, that it's a surprising thing
that Monsieur Courbichon should have bought a cane like that. Your
nephew's a man of taste. What does he do?"
"He's in business. He has gone to America. This was his cane; he gave it
to me, because, as he said, he was going to a country where there are
plenty of canes, and it was useless for him to carry this one."
"Do you mean that he carries a piece of sugar-cane in his hand when he
goes out to walk?"
"I can't tell you, I don't know. The cane suited me, because at need I
could use it to defend myself."
"My Chinese switch was a famous weapon of defence, too."
"What! a switch?"
"Remember that it was a _nerf de boeuf._ I could have killed a calf
with it."
"What a curious idea of those Chinese to make canes with _nerfs de
boeuf!_"
"An additional proof, my dear Monsieur Courbichon, that the Chinese are
much more advanced than we are--much more progressive! They build houses
of india-rubber."
"Hard rubber, of course?"
"I don't know whether it's hard or not--it makes no difference. Pardieu!
Monsieur Courbichon, you must agree that there are lucky chances, and
that we were both happily inspired when we went to that cafe to-day!"
"It is certain, monsieur, that otherwise----"
"You would never have seen your charming cane again. Are you married,
Monsieur Courbichon?"
"I have been married, monsieur, but I am a widower."
"A superb position for a man still young and made to please the ladies."
"Oh! monsieur, I am fifty-five."
"That is the very prime of life, the age at which a man makes most
conquests, because he knows better how to go about it. Ah! I would like
to be fifty-five! I hope to get there, but I haven't yet. You have some
means?"
"Five or six thousand francs a year, which I made in dried fruit."
"A very pretty business!--That isn't a magnificent fortune, but it is
that pleasant mediocrity so highly praised by Horace. Do you know
Horace?"
"Yes, I have seen it played at the Theatre-Francais."
"Ah! I guess we will stop there! Have you children, excellent
Courbichon?"
"I have a daughter, monsieur,--a married daughter; I have set her up in
business."
"In dried fruit?"
"No, monsieur; she is in olive oil."
"Oh! the deuce! that's very different! But it will preserve her longer.
You have no other daughter?"
"No, monsieur."
"What a pity!"
"Why so, monsieur?"
"Because I feel so strongly attracted to you that I would have asked her
hand in marriage. Faith! yes, I would have renounced my liberty, which I
have never done yet--but there's an end to everything. Does your
son-in-law enjoy good health?"
"Yes, monsieur, excellent!"
"So much the worse!"
"Why so much the worse?"
"Because, if he should die soon, I might marry his widow."
"Oh! what an idea, monsieur!"
"He is in good health, so there's an end of that; let us say no more
about it. Don't be alarmed; I have no idea of killing him. If he had
insulted me, I don't say----"
"A thousand pardons, monsieur; but I should be very glad to know your
name."
"My name? So you have forgotten it, have you? But I was called by name
often enough at young Blanquette's wedding party--while I was dancing
with Aunt Merlin."
"I don't remember it."
"My name is Arthur Cherami."
Courbichon, thinking that his companion was addressing him as his dear
friend (_cher ami_), replied:
"Oh! yes, your name is Arthur---- Nothing more?"
"What do you say? nothing more? Why, I have just told you--Arthur
Cherami."
"Yes, I understand--Arthur; that's a very pretty name. Are you in
business?"
"I don't do anything; I live on my income, like you."
"Oh! that's different! When one has enough to live on, one certainly has
the right to loaf as much as he pleases."
"That's so, isn't it, my dear Courbichon? Ah! I am delighted to see that
we agree. We were destined to become close friends; it was written, as
the Arabs say."
While conversing thus,--that is to say, while Cherami conversed and his
companion listened, with difficulty finding a chance to put in a word or
two from time to time,--they had reached the Champs-Elysees. They
sauntered toward a spot where a game of bowls was in progress, and
looked on for a while. According to his habit, Cherami made his
reflections aloud and gave his opinion on the strokes. He did not
hesitate to say: "That was wretchedly played!" to the face of the
player. The latter, a youngster of sixteen years, came up to him with
an irritated air, crying:
"What business is it of yours? Perhaps you wouldn't do as well!"
"No, I flatter myself that I wouldn't do as well, for I would do much
better. And if you don't like what I say, my boy, just come with me.
There's a shooting-gallery yonder. I will take you for my target, and
you take me; we'll see which of us will bring the other down."
The bowler retired without making any reply.
"You are too quick, my dear Monsieur Arthur," said Courbichon, putting
his hand on Cherami's shoulder; "you take fire like saltpetre."
"Ah! that's the way I was made, my dear Courbichon. What would you
have--a man can't make himself over!--But just let anyone presume to
insult you, when you're with me! Bigre! a dwarf, a giant, a
colossus--it's all one to me; I would grind him to powder on the spot,
and it wouldn't take long!"
Meanwhile, the young bowler, who had returned to his game boiling with
rage, had formed a plan to revenge himself upon the person who had said
that he bowled badly; and when it was his turn to bowl, he threw the
ball with all his force in Cherami's direction, hoping that it would
strike his legs. But a small stone caused it to deviate slightly, and,
instead of striking Beau Arthur, it came in contact with Monsieur
Courbichon's legs. That gentleman staggered, and uttered a piercing
shriek. Cherami saw plainly whence the ball came, and saw the bowler
laughing uproariously. Instantly, snatching the cane from his
companion's hand, he ran toward the author of the assault, shouting:
"Never fear, my poor Courbichon; I will avenge you, and I'll do it
thoroughly, too. He'll have his rabbit, the villain!"
The youngster who had thrown the ball fled when he saw Cherami running
toward him. But Cherami pursued him; while Monsieur Courbichon rubbed
his legs, saying:
"This is the first time such a thing ever happened to me while I was
watching the game; and it's the more surprising, because I wasn't in
line with the pins. So it must have been done on purpose; but why should
the fellow aim at my legs? I didn't make any comment on his play--I
didn't have any dispute with him.--This will certainly leave a mark on
my legs.--Where in the deuce has Monsieur Arthur gone? That man is too
quick-tempered."
In a few minutes, Cherami returned, flushed and triumphant, crying:
"You are avenged, my dear Courbichon! yes, what anyone would call
thoroughly avenged; the rascal has had what he deserved; and here's the
proof."
As he spoke, he handed his new friend his beautiful cane broken in two.
Monsieur Courbichon was dumfounded, and gazed with an air of
consternation at the pieces of the cane.
"Ah! mon Dieu!" he faltered; "it is broken!"
"True--it is broken; but I broke it on the back of the ragamuffin who
threw his ball at your skittles--I mean, your legs."
"What a pity! You struck him too hard."
"One cannot strike an enemy too hard."
"Such a pretty cane!"
"You still have the pieces--or, at all events, the head; you can have it
put on another stick."
"It was a genuine rattan."
"Pardieu! it was genuine enough; the fact that it broke so soon proves
that. But there are other rattans in the shops."
"I'm very sorry that you broke my cane."
"If you hadn't lost my Chinese switch, I would have beaten him with
that; and that wouldn't have broken, I promise you!"
"It makes me feel very bad--my beautiful cane!"
"Saperlotte! are you going to cry over it? Oughtn't you rather to thank
me for avenging the insult to your legs? Come, take your cane, and let
us go and dine; the walk has given me an appetite."
Poor Courbichon, with a lachrymose expression, took the pieces of his
cane, and submitted to be led away by Cherami, who took his arm and
conducted him to one of the best restaurants on the Champs-Elysees. They
took their seats out-of-doors, at one of the tables surrounded by hedges
in such wise as to form private rooms with walls of verdure. Courbichon
placed the fragments of his cane on a chair by his side, heaving a
profound sigh; for his new friend intimidated him so that he no longer
dared, in his presence, to betray the chagrin caused by the spectacle of
his broken treasure.
Cherami ordered the dinner, saying:
"Rely on me; I will order the dinner; and as we are sensible men and
have no women with us, there's no need of our making fools of ourselves.
We don't want to have a magnificent feast, but simply to dine
comfortably. Is that your idea?"
"Exactly; still----"
"You have just the disposition I like! I shall mark with a white
cross--_album dies!_--the day which brought us together and enabled me
to return your cane. I regret that you lost my Chinese switch! but you
have your cane; that's the main thing!"
Whenever his new friend mentioned his cane, Monsieur Courbichon made a
wry face, but he did not venture to make any complaint. They proceeded
to dine: one, talking constantly as he ate; the other, eating almost
without speaking; and, although Cherami had informed his host that they
would dine like sensible men, when the bill was brought, it amounted to
twenty-two francs.
"That is not too much," said Cherami, passing the check to his
companion; "for we have had a good dinner and punished our three
bottles."
The little bald man seemed to be of a different opinion; he turned the
paper over and over in his hand, muttering:
"Twenty-two francs! twenty-two francs!"
"Well, my good Courbichon, that won't drain the sea dry! How many times
I have spent ten times as much on a dainty dinner, tete-a-tete with a
pretty woman! To be sure, we used to have all the delicacies of the
season--asparagus at thirty francs the bunch, strawberries at fifteen
francs, pineapples, wine of Constance.--The women adore that wine! they
delight in getting tipsy on Constance--in the bottle!--Have you ever
indulged in that sort of affair, amiable Courbichon? Oh! you must have
done it, many a time! That's where you lost your hair; eh, old boy?"
"Twenty-two francs! twenty-two francs!"
"Those figures seem to worry you! Do you find a mistake in the
addition?"
"No, it isn't that; but I am afraid I haven't enough money with me. I
paid quite a large amount at the cafe, this morning. I didn't expect to
spend so much to-day. Would you be kind enough to lend me what I need?"
"I would do so with the most lively satisfaction, my estimable friend;
but, as I was feeling in my pocket just now, I discovered that I have
forgotten my purse; which, by the way, happens quite often, for I am
very absent-minded. I may add that, when I made that discovery, I
intended to borrow a few francs of you--as is often done between good
friends; for what's the use of friendship, if not to oblige? O divine
friendship! gift of the gods!"
"Mon Dieu! what are we going to do, if we haven't enough money between
us to pay for our dinner?"
"Don't you be alarmed! I have found myself in that position more than
once. You can leave your cane in pawn."
"My cane! When it was whole, that might have been--but now I can only
offer some pieces of a cane as a pledge."
"Then leave your watch, my friend."
"I haven't worn it since my last one was stolen."
"But don't worry! They will give us credit on our respectable
appearance."
"Let me see; with every sou I can find---- Search your pockets, too."
"Oh! that's useless; I never carry money loose in my pockets. I have my
purse, or I haven't it."
Monsieur Courbichon, having collected all that he had in his pockets,
could find only twelve francs and two sous. But suddenly, upon renewing
his search, he produced something carefully wrapped in paper, and that
something proved to be a gold piece of ten francs. The bald man's face
lightened.
"Ah!" he cried; "the ten francs that I loaned to Mathieu, and that he
paid back this morning; I had forgotten them. That makes up the amount
and two sous over--for the waiter."
"If I were in your place," said Cherami, "I would keep Mathieu's ten
francs, so that we might have something to refresh ourselves with when
we go back; and I would leave my cane for the balance."
"What! you want me to ask for credit when I have enough money to pay the
bill?"
"You haven't enough; for with a bill of twenty-two francs, you can't
think of giving the waiter less than twenty sous; if you offer him two,
he'll throw them in your face."
"If he refuses them, he'll get nothing at all--so much the worse for
him! but I shall pay my bill."
"And suppose you feel the need of something while we are walking back?"
"We have dined so well that I shall not want anything."
"On the contrary, you may have an attack of indigestion--you are very
red already--and then you'll want a glass of sugar and water."
"I can do without it; I am not in the habit of being sick."
"There are lots of things we're not in the habit of having, and yet they
come--as, sudden death, for example; certainly one hasn't the habit of
it, and it takes you all of a sudden."
Cherami's arguments were of no avail; Monsieur Courbichon held his
ground. He called the waiter, paid for his dinner, and told him that he
gave him only two sous because he had nothing but banknotes which he did
not wish to change.
They left the restaurant. The little bald man carried the pieces of his
cane, but his face wore a very unamiable expression. Cherami, who had
ceased to enjoy his society, soon left him, saying:
"Give me your address, my dear friend. I will come soon and bid you
good-morning."
"It is useless, monsieur; I start to-morrow for Touraine, where I expect
to settle."
"What! you are leaving Paris, too? Very well; if you go to Tours, send
me some plums--Rue de l'Orillon, Belleville, Hotel du Bel-Air; but
prepay the freight!"
Monsieur Courbichon saluted Cherami, and hurried off as fast as his
little legs would carry him, thrusting a fragment of his cane into each
pocket.
XXVIII
A CONSTANT LOVER
Monsieur Gerbault transmitted his daughter's reply to the two suitors
who had asked for her hand. Young Anatole took his rebuff without any
indication of emotion. He said simply:
"I am very thorry, becauth our two voitheth went very well together. I
am thure that we would have thung beautifully, and I am tho fond of
muthic that we thould have been very happy."
The Comte de la Beriniere did not accept Adolphine's refusal of his
offer so philosophically.
"Upon my word, my dear Gerbault," he exclaimed, "I have bad luck with
your daughters! One marries just when I am about to ask for her hand.
This one will have none of me; for I understand perfectly that her reply
is simply a courteously disguised refusal. Well, I must make the best of
it! I will take a trip into Italy, and try to console myself. The
Italian women are not the equals of your daughters, but, at all events,
they will distract my thoughts."
And, a few days later, the Comte de la Beriniere did, in fact, leave
Paris.
But there was one person who was entirely unable to understand
Adolphine's conduct: that was her sister Fanny. Learning that she had
refused to marry either Monsieur de Raincy or the count, she went to see
her one morning.
"Can what father tells me be true? You have refused to marry, when two
magnificent _partis_ have offered themselves? But, no, it can't be true;
you haven't done that! or else you were sick at the time. Surely you
didn't realize what you said, when you gave father that answer?"
"Indeed I did, my dear love," Adolphine replied, with a smile; "I knew
perfectly well what I was saying; I had considered the matter fully when
I refused to marry those gentlemen."
"Upon my word, I don't understand you! What reason, what motives, can
have prompted your refusal? The Comte de la Beriniere has thirty
thousand francs a year; and he would make you a countess. Just think of
it--a countess! Isn't it perfectly bewildering to think of being called
Madame la Comtesse?"
"It tempts me very little."
"To be sure, the count is no longer young; but, once married, if you
knew, my dear girl, how little you think about your husband's age!
Auguste might be sixty years old, now, and it would be all the same to
me."
"My ideas are not at all the same as yours, as I have already told you."
"But I have had experience now, and you ought to listen to me. Come, let
us admit that you refused the count because you thought he was too old,
which is the merest childishness--that reason doesn't apply in the case
of Monsieur de Raincy; he is young, good-looking----"
"He has a stupid, self-sufficient manner."