arm! If you had killed him, I should have been accused of the murder!"
"What's that? you? Everybody knows that it wasn't you who fought with
him. I see a young man, miserable, desperate, because the woman he loves
marries another. That young man interests me. I dine with him, and he
pours his sorrows into my bosom. Every instant, he complains of the
perfidy of the woman who has deceived him; and, that same day, when I
chance to meet that faithless creature on her conqueror's arm, you would
not have me try to avenge my friend's wrongs? Damnation! what the devil
do you understand by friendship, I wonder? If that's your idea of it,
why, adieu, bonjour, let's say no more about it! Go and look elsewhere
for friends; but you won't find my sort lying around by the dozen!"
Gustave detained Cherami as he turned away, and offered him his hand,
saying:
"Come, come, don't get excited, hot-head! I see that one cannot bear you
a grudge; give me your hand!"
"This is very fortunate. He realizes at last that I am entirely devoted
to him, and that his happiness alone is my object."
"My dear monsieur----"
"Don't call me _monsieur_, or it will be my turn to be angry!"
"Very well! my dear Arthur, that duel of yours annoyed me very much,
because I was afraid that it would have set Fanny against me altogether.
But, thank heaven! it did nothing of the kind."
"As if women were ever angry because a man fights for them! You
evidently don't know them; on the contrary, it flatters their
self-esteem--it serves to set them off a little."
"I have just seen Fanny, I met her at her sister's. I didn't expect to
see her there. Ah! if you knew--I am still all upset by that meeting."
"Do you mean that you still love that young woman?"
"Do I love her! Alas! yes, I love her still, and I feel that my passion
will make my whole life miserable."
"Did the little lady receive you coldly?"
"Why, no; on the contrary, she gave me a most delicious smile, and
talked to me just as she used to before her marriage. In fact,--can you
believe it?--she invited me to a large party that she gives next
Thursday."
"And still you have a sad, woe-begone air! why, I should say that you
have every reason to rejoice!"
"Why so?"
"Because when this lady, who knows that you once adored her, and who
must have seen that you love her still--when, I say, she asks you to
come and see her, it means that she proposes to reward you for your
constancy--to crown your passion. Pardieu! that's not hard to
understand. Go to her party, my dear friend, and I'll stake my head that
within six weeks the husband has rooms at the sign of the Stag or the
Crescent, as long as you choose."
"Ah! what do you presume to imply? You imagine that Fanny is capable of
betraying her husband, of forgetting her duty? No, no! she may be
fickle, coquettish, if you please, but she will never be guilty. And I
myself--oh! that is not my conception of love. A woman who shares her
favors--who pretends to feel for one man the love which she really feels
for another--oh! I should soon cease to love such a woman!"
Cherami shook his head, as he muttered:
"You are young, my dear Gustave; you are very young! You don't know the
world as I do. You say that you still adore your Fanny, and that you
wouldn't have her deceive her husband for you?"
"In the first place, she wouldn't do it!"
"I am strongly inclined to believe the contrary; but let us admit that
you are right. I see but one means of making you happy, and that is to
carry the young woman off. Do you want me to do that? I'll undertake it,
if you do."
"No, my dear Arthur; I have never had such a thought. Fanny has all that
she wants--she is happy; I shall be very careful to avoid disturbing her
happiness; I have neither the right nor the desire to do so. But, as I
feel that the sight of her intensifies my suffering, by reviving the
passion which I am trying to extinguish; as I do not wish to expose
myself--for some time, at least--to the chance of meeting her at the
theatre or in society, why, I shall leave Paris, and travel once more.
My uncle always has business in other countries, and he will not be
sorry to employ me in that way again."
"That's a crazy idea of yours! So, if your love happens to hang on, that
little woman will make you do the tour of the world?"
"Let us hope that time will cure me."
"There is something that works quicker than time in the cure of love; to
wit, another love. You ought to have had ten mistresses in Spain."
"Impossible! I thought of nobody but her."
"You can fairly boast of being a paladin of the good old times. You
could have given _Roland_ and _Amadis_ points. So you are going to leave
Paris again! Would you like me to travel with you?"
"Thanks! my company is far from agreeable; my sole pleasure consists in
musing by myself--thinking of the happiness to which I looked forward
for some time, but which I am never to know."
"We would have sought adventures together, aye, and found them too, I
promise you! That would have diverted your thoughts."
"I do not care to divert my thoughts, as my only pleasure is the thought
of her."
"Sapristi! yours is a devilishly persistent passion! However, as you're
so obstinate----"
Cherami paused, and seemed to reflect upon the best means of changing
the subject.
XXXI
A NEW SWITCH
"In that case, it will be another long while before I see you again?" he
said at last. "That troubles me--especially as there are times when a
friend is very essential!"
Cherami shook his head, rubbed his chin, and added, between his teeth:
"I haven't my cue at this moment--I need it damnably!"
Gustave glanced at the ex-beau, whose piteous expression was even more
noticeable against his wretched costume; then he exclaimed:
"Can I do anything for you, my dear friend? If so, tell me, I beg; I
should be happy to be of any service to you!"
"Faith! my dear fellow, I will not conceal from you that I am at this
moment absolutely cleaned out. I counted on some money that was owing
me; my quarterly income isn't due for six weeks."
"You need money? Why, in heaven's name, didn't you tell me? I am
entirely at your service. How much do you need?"
"Why, at this moment--it's very cold--my rascal of a tailor broke his
word--so--I ought to have--say, a hundred francs, to furbish me up a
bit."
"A hundred francs! Why, you couldn't do anything with that. Here, my
good friend, here's five hundred! Take it; I can spare it."
Gustave took a banknote from his wallet as he spoke, and handed it to
Cherami, who could not restrain a joyful movement when he received that
windfall; he seized the young man's hand and pressed it with all his
strength, crying:
"Ah! you are the friend I have dreamed about! My dear Gustave, I shall
never forget what you do for me at this moment! Henceforth we are
friends in life and death! I cannot name the exact day when I shall be
able to repay this money----"
"Eh? who said anything about that? I have more money than I need, and, I
say again, I am delighted to be able to be of service to you."
"Excellent and worthy friend! You are made on the antique pattern; you
have something of Socrates and of Marcus Aurelius about you. So you
don't want me to kidnap Fanny?"
"No, I won't have it!"
"Well, if you change your mind, you have only to write me a line at the
same address: Cherami, Hotel du Bel-Air, Rue de l'Orillon, Belleville.
By the way, I will call on your uncle's concierge now and then, to find
out whether you have returned. Sapristi! it pains me to have you go."
"I shall return--and perhaps I shall be more reasonable."
"Then we will enjoy ourselves, we will laugh and make merry! Au revoir,
then, my dear Gustave! If you have any commission for me, write me a
line. But prepay your letters, for my hostess has a habit of refusing to
take in those that have to be paid for."
"What! even when they are for her tenants?"
"Above all, when they are for her tenants."
Gustave walked away after shaking hands with Cherami, who looked after
him with a touched expression, saying to himself:
"Excellent heart! he reconciles me with mankind; clearly, there still
are such things as friends; they are rare, but, still, they do exist,
and it's simply a matter of finding them. Now, I must see about getting
some comfortable duds; that won't be an extravagance. When anyone
brushes against me, I am always afraid he'll carry away a piece of my
coat."
Cherami soon found one of the great furnishing shops where you can
procure a complete change of raiment, from head to foot. He bought a
pair of trousers, very full, a thickly padded waistcoat, and a roomy
coat; and he put them all on over the clothes he was wearing.
"I am like Bias, one of the seven sages of Greece," he said; "I carry my
whole wardrobe on my back."
Cherami made all these purchases for ninety francs. He left the shop
much stouter than he entered, and his double trousers compelled him to
walk with a certain gravity. But he was so content, he considered
himself so comely in his new clothes, that he smiled benignly on
everybody, even on the cabmen who passed him. But something was still
lacking: since he had restored Monsieur Courbichon's cane, he had not
replaced it, for lack of funds; and that was to him a great privation.
Now he could gratify his longing; a man who has four hundred and ten
francs in his pocket, after purchasing a new outfit throughout, can well
afford to humor his fancy for a cane.
Cherami spied a shop where canes of all sorts were for sale; he examined
a score, among which there were some very expensive ones. After
hesitating for some time between a superb Malacca joint at seventy-five
francs, and a light switch at a hundred sous, he finally decided upon
the latter. "For, after all," he reflected, "I don't need a cane to lean
on! Thank God, I haven't the gout! I will take the switch; it can be
used as a crop when I ride; and then, I like something that bends--one
can play with it."
Armed with his switch, with which he beat the air in a very unpleasant
fashion for those who passed him, Cherami betook himself to the
Palais-Royal, saying to himself:
"I think I will dine at Les Freres Provencaux. I like that old-fashioned
house; you are always treated well there. It's a little dear, perhaps,
but one can't pay too much for what is good."
"Pray be careful, monsieur! you hit me with your cane!"
"What's the matter, monsieur? what are you complaining about?"
"You hit me with your cane, I tell you."
"In the first place, monsieur, it isn't a cane; it's a switch; in the
second place, you have only to walk farther away from me."
"Monsieur, I am on the sidewalk, as you are. I have a right to be here,
I fancy."
"What's all this?--Cheap talk? impertinence? If you're not satisfied,
monsieur, say so at once; I'm your man; I won't run away!"
His interlocutor, who had not left home with the intention of fighting a
duel, quickened his pace and disappeared without making any further
reply.
Cherami began to wave his switch about as before.
"These fellows are amazing, on my word!" he muttered. "They want to
frighten me out of playing with this little stick. As if I would put
myself out--as if----"
But this time he concluded to stop, hearing the crash of broken glass;
he had shattered with his switch a beautiful mirror which formed part of
the show-window of a perfumer's shop. The mistress of the establishment
was already in her doorway, where she said to Cherami in an angry tone:
"You broke that mirror, monsieur; you broke it!"
Beau Arthur, with no outward indication of excitement, smiled at the
perfumeress as he rejoined:
"Very good! my dear woman, if I broke your mirror, I'll pay for it. You
shouldn't lose your temper for a little thing like that. How much will
it cost to replace it?"
"Twenty francs, monsieur."
"Twenty francs! here's your money! a mere bagatelle!--I am not sorry to
have christened my switch," he added, as he walked away.
XXXII
THE FAREWELLS
When he learned that his nephew wished to leave Paris again, Monsieur
Grandcourt did not conceal the regret which he felt at the thought of
another separation; but when he realized that Gustave still loved Madame
Monleard, he placed no obstacle in the way of his departure, and it was
decided that the young man should go to Germany.
"During your absence," said the banker, "an individual came here to
inquire for you--I say an _individual_, for I don't know how else to
describe the man, whose whole aspect was more than questionable. His
name, I believe, is Arthur Cherami, and he claims to be an intimate
friend of yours, because you paid for his dinner the day Mademoiselle
Fanny was married."
"Ah! yes, I know whom you mean, uncle; I have seen him; I met him a
couple of days ago."
"I trust, my dear Gustave, that you will not affect that gentleman's
society. You don't know, perhaps, what he did? He fought a duel with
Monsieur Monleard, after making an insulting remark to his wife."
"I know it, uncle. But, in the first place, that day, or rather that
night, the poor devil was a little tipsy--he lost his head--he thought
he was avenging me; after all, it only goes to prove that he's a brave
fellow."
"My dear boy, the gentry who stop public conveyances on the highroad are
generally brave fellows, too, but that doesn't prevent their being
brigands."
"Oh! uncle, do you mean that you think that that poor Arthur----"
"I don't say that he's a thief; but I don't advise you to make a
companion of him."
"He's no fool; he has had a good education, and he knows the world."
"He is all the more reprehensible for having allowed himself to sink so
low! For he seems to me to be always in search of a dinner. However, as
you are going away again for some time, I trust that your relations with
the fellow will be entirely broken off."
Gustave hastened the preparations for his journey; but, being obliged to
wait for certain letters which his uncle desired to give him for his
correspondents, he was not ready to leave Paris until the following
Thursday evening. He desired to see Adolphine once more before he went;
she had always been so kind and affectionate to him, that it seemed to
him that it would be ungracious to leave Paris again without bidding her
adieu. But the fear of another meeting with Fanny held him back. He
suddenly remembered, however, that that was the day of the grand affair
to which Madame Monleard had invited him.
"Surely," he said to himself, "Fanny has too much to do at home to-day,
to find time to go to her sister's. So that I can call on Adolphine with
no fear of meeting her whose presence causes me more pain than pleasure
now."
Adolphine was at home, engaged in preparations for the ball; for
although she anticipated no pleasure at her sister's magnificent
function, she could not do otherwise than go. She was looking with an
indifferent air at a lovely ball gown which her father had given her,
and which would have delighted most young women of her age beyond
measure.
"But," thought Adolphine, "what do I care whether people think me
pretty? There will be nobody at the ball whom I care to please. Ah! if
he were going! But he was wise to refuse; he could not, ought not to
go."
Madeleine noiselessly opened the door, and said:
"Mamzelle, here's the young man who came the other day--the one who's so
good-looking, and seems so sad-like."
"Monsieur Gustave?"
"Yes, that Monsieur Gustave, who was so scared by your sister the other
time, that he went right away."
"Mon Dieu! Is father at home?"
"Yes, mamzelle; but he's in his room with Monsieur Batonnin, who came
just a minute ago. They'll probably have a lot to talk about, and you
know your father hardly ever comes into your room. And, to-day, he knows
that you're getting your dress ready."
"Show Gustave in, quickly."
Trimmings, flowers, ribbons, all were thrown aside; Adolphine was so
happy at the thought of seeing Gustave. In a moment, he entered the
room, ran to her side, and pressed her hand affectionately.
"Will you forgive me for disturbing you again, dear Adolphine?" he
asked.
"Will I forgive you! Why, I am very glad to see you; for, when you went
away the other day, you said that you wouldn't come again, and that
grieved me much."
"That was because I was so unprepared to meet your sister. I didn't
expect to see her, and I confess that it affected me so deeply that it
revived all my suffering."
"Oh! I saw that; but it was by the merest chance that you met her; she
comes here very seldom."
"No matter; I would not have run the risk of a second meeting; but I
remembered that this is the day of her grand ball, and I thought that
she would have no leisure to come here this morning."
"But I should have said that Fanny was glad to see you."
"Oh! that makes no difference, my good little sister; her glances, her
voice, her smile, all made my heart ache! You can't imagine what agony
it is to be with a person you love, and who doesn't love you!"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
"Especially when you have imagined for some time that you possessed that
person's heart; when you have flattered yourself with the prospect of
passing your life with her! To see that woman again, when she belongs to
another, is the most frightful torture. Fanny smiled at me, she asked me
to call on her. But I would have preferred a cold, harsh greeting a
hundred times over; I would have liked her to avoid my presence as I
meant to avoid hers; for then I would have thought: 'I am not utterly
indifferent to her.'--However, that won't happen again, for I am going
away, and I have come to say good-bye."
"You are going away again! Mon Dieu! you have only just returned!"
"Ah! I should have done better not to return so soon. Living in Paris
weighs on me, it recalls the past too vividly."
"And where are you going now?"
"To Germany, Austria--as far away as possible!"
"For a long time?"
"Oh! yes, for I don't propose to return until I am thoroughly cured of
my unhappy passion."
Adolphine put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"But it's not our fault," she stammered,--"if my sister doesn't love
you--and yet, because she doesn't, we--must lose a friend."
"Dear Adolphine, such woe-begone friends as I am are hardly worth
regretting."
"Do you think so? But suppose I like them so?"
"When I return, I shall probably find you married, too."
"No, no! I shall not be married, I--I am sure of it."
"What do you know about it? There are certain to be plenty of aspirants
to your hand."
"I refused two, not long ago. They were both rich, but I am not like my
sister; I want to love my husband!"
"Do you think, pray, that Fanny doesn't love hers?"
"Mon Dieu! I know nothing about it. I don't know what I am saying; I am
so disappointed!"
At that moment, the door opened. Monsieur Gerbault appeared, with
Monsieur Batonnin, who entered first.
"Pray excuse me, mademoiselle," he began; "I come to engage you for the
first contra-dance that----"
The soft-spoken gentleman stopped abruptly, seeing a young man seated
beside Adolphine; he rolled his eyes in the direction of the father,
adding:
"Ah! mademoiselle has a visitor; we disturb her."
Monsieur Gerbault was no less surprised than he at finding a man in his
daughter's room, and her with her eyes full of tears. But he soon
recognized Gustave, who bowed respectfully to him and said:
"Forgive me, monsieur, for presuming to call upon your daughter; but I
came to bid her good-bye, and I hoped to have the honor of paying my
respects to you as well before leaving the house."
"Ah! is it you, Monsieur Gustave? I thought that you were in Spain?"
"I returned a week ago, monsieur; and to-night I start for Germany."
"Why, what's the matter, Adolphine? you look as if you had been crying.
But I cannot conceive what reason you can have to be unhappy."
Monsieur Batonnin thought it advisable to intervene.
"It always saddens one to say good-bye to one's friends," he murmured.
"Life is so short! When we part, we are never sure of meeting again."
"What do you say, monsieur?" cried Adolphine, with a pathetic glance at
Gustave.
"I had no purpose to grieve you, mademoiselle, believe me," Batonnin
made haste to reply; "on the contrary, I came to solicit the honor of
dancing the first contra-dance with you; for you surely have not
forgotten that madame your sister gives a ball this evening?"
"No, monsieur."
"I realize," said Gustave, "that I came at a very inopportune moment,
and interrupted mademoiselle in her preparations for that festivity,
diverting her thoughts to a poor traveller who desired to carry away
with him a friendly word or two. Pray forgive my intrusion,
mademoiselle. I am an unlucky mortal, for my sadness constantly casts a
shadow on the happiness of other people. But I am sure that you will
forgive me, in memory of our former friendship.--Monsieur Gerbault, will
you allow me to shake hands with you?"
The melancholy and at the same time dignified manner in which Gustave
spoke banished the last trace of sternness from Monsieur Gerbault's
face; he took the young man's hand and pressed it warmly, saying to
him:
"Come, come, my friend, drive away the gloomy thoughts that assail you.
At your age, the future is boundless. Don't submit to be crushed by
fruitless regrets; you may still be happy, and you will be some day, I
am sure. A pleasant journey to you! Study the manners and customs of the
countries you visit, and I am convinced that you will return in an
infinitely more cheerful frame of mind."
"Thanks for your kind wishes, monsieur; allow me to bid you adieu."
Gustave pressed Adolphine's hand, bowed to the visitor, whom he did not
know, and left the room. While the young woman escorted him to the door,
Monsieur Batonnin observed to Monsieur Gerbault:
"That young man is in love with Mademoiselle Adolphine, I see, and you
have refused him her hand. Doubtless he isn't a suitable match for her;
but still it is very good-natured of you to give him encouragement for
the future."
"My dear Monsieur Batonnin, you are all off the track. It was not
Adolphine, but her sister Fanny, with whom Gustave was in love, and he
flattered himself that he was going to marry her, when Auguste Monleard
came forward. Faith! he had better luck. He offered her a position which
any young woman would have liked, and she accepted him. It was a very
hard blow to this young Gustave."
"I understand. Then it was he who fought a duel with your son-in-law,
and gave him the wound which made him carry his arm in a sling so long?"
"You are wrong again. It was not Gustave who fought with Monsieur
Monleard, for Gustave was a long way from Paris when the duel took
place."
"Whom did your son-in-law fight with, then?"
"Faith! you ask me too much!"
Adolphine's return put an end to Monsieur Batonnin's questions.
"Mademoiselle," he said, in his most silvery tones, "I beg your pardon
if I repeat the same thing again and again, like a parrot, but I should
be glad to know if I may obtain from you the favor of the first
contra-dance. I present my request thus early, because I am sure that
you will be beset, overwhelmed with invitations this evening, and it
will be very difficult to obtain a word with you."
Adolphine seemed to make an effort to throw off her preoccupation, and
replied:
"But I am not sure yet, monsieur, whether I shall dance at my sister's
this evening, for I have a very severe headache, and, unless it gets
better, I shall cut a very sad figure in a dance."
"Don't pay any attention to her," said Monsieur Gerbault. "These girls
are forever having headaches, which take them all of a sudden when they
have the least thought of such a thing; but, have no fear, there never
was a headache that didn't surrender at the signal given by the
orchestra at a ball. So, as you've delivered your invitation, you are
certain of being her first partner. And now, let us leave mademoiselle
to her preparations. Come, my dear Monsieur Batonnin."
The soft-spoken gentleman bestowed a superb smile upon Adolphine,
accompanied by a respectful bow.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "I rest my hopes upon what your father says,
too fortunate if you crown my desires; and if my invitation, albeit a
little premature perhaps, and rather unseasonable----"
"Come, Monsieur Batonnin, come."
The maker of compliments, being led away by Monsieur Gerbault, was
compelled to complete his sentence in the reception-room; and Adolphine,
left alone at last, cursed Monsieur Batonnin for coming, with his
invitation, to interrupt her interview with Gustave.