must needs dance this evening, when my heart is full, when I would like
to weep undisturbed! Ah! if these are the pleasures which society has to
offer, they who are debarred from them are the most fortunate!"
XXXIII
A GRAND AFFAIR
At ten o'clock, Monsieur Monleard's magnificent salons were resplendent
with light, flowers, and new draperies, arranged with an artistic skill
which did honor to the taste of the organizer of the festivity. At
eleven, the guests arrived in swarms. The ladies were superbly dressed,
and the flashing of their diamonds dazzled the eye; some--but by no
means the larger number--were more simply attired, and were content to
attract by the charms of their persons alone. The men admired the
beautiful dresses, but preferred to linger by those whose attractions
depended less upon their costumes. A fine orchestra played quadrilles,
polkas, mazurkas. Its strains seemed to enliven the faces of the guests,
which fairly beamed with pleasure--the pleasure which they already
enjoyed, and that to which they looked forward: the latter is always the
more agreeable.
At midnight, the number of guests was already so great that it was
becoming very difficult to pass from one room into another. To do so
required an amount of persevering effort which many of the ladies did
not choose to put forth, and which, indeed, the enormous dimensions of
their skirts made almost impossible.
The ball was at its height. The queen of the fete did the honors with
much grace, and everybody agreed in voting her charming. Fanny was, in
very truth, most bewitchingly and becomingly dressed; her white moire
gown, albeit not overladen with trimming, was studded with bunches of
real flowers, and in her hair there were no jewels save a cluster of
diamonds; but the satisfaction which her vanity experienced in the
giving of such a fete imparted to her eyes an unusual brilliancy, to her
smile more expression, to her voice more feeling. She was surrounded by
men who contended for the honor of dancing a polka or a quadrille with
her, and everyone envied the lucky mortal who was her partner for the
time being, especially as she was a beautiful dancer; she was as light
as a feather, and her feet seemed hardly to touch the floor.
Auguste Monleard was very far from displaying the same glee and
satisfaction which were so apparent on his wife's features; he did the
honors of his salons with the exquisite courtesy and refinement of a man
in the best society, who is accustomed to party-giving; but there was in
his smile a something forced and constrained, which was better adapted
to freeze than to provoke gayety; at times, too, a dark cloud passed
over his forehead, his eyebrows contracted, his lips tightened, and he
seemed utterly oblivious to what was being said to him. But these
periods of distraction lasted but a moment. Auguste would suddenly come
to himself and struggle to assume a cheerful aspect.
Adolphine, who came early with her father, did not dazzle the beholder
by the splendor of her costume; but she was charming by virtue of her
natural grace of manner, her perfect figure, the sweet expression of her
lovely eyes, and perhaps, too, by virtue of a touch of melancholy, which
she strove to overcome, but which added to the charm of her face.
Monsieur Batonnin did not fail to be on hand when the leader of the
orchestra gave the signal for the dancing to begin, and the girl had no
choice but to accept him for her partner; indeed, it mattered little to
her with whom she danced; what she would have liked would have been not
to dance at all; but, as she was the hostess's sister, that was
impossible; too many people would have inquired the reason for her
abstinence, and it would have worried her father and annoyed her sister.
On the contrary, she felt that she must act as if she were enjoying
herself hugely, and that was very difficult; we can do many things to
oblige another, but the eyes never have complaisance enough to hide
thoroughly our real feelings.
While dancing with Adolphine, Monsieur Batonnin did not fail to
overwhelm her with compliments, scattered among his remarks upon the
party.
"It's magnificent! it's enchanting! it's delightful! How elegantly these
salons are decorated! and with such taste! Flowers everywhere--to say
nothing of those who are dancing; for women and flowers, you know, are
very much alike. Others have said that before me, to be sure; but there
are things that can't be repeated too often. It must have cost a lot--to
give a party like this! but then, when one has the means! Monsieur
Monleard doesn't look as cheerful as his wife does; he doesn't seem to
be dancing. Still, a host can't dance all the time. I don't suppose he's
sick, although he is very pale; but he's almost always pale."
To all this Adolphine replied only by monosyllables, and the gentleman
with the doll's face said to himself after the quadrille:
"That young lady is just about as cheerful as her brother-in-law; it's
of no use for Papa Gerbault to tell me that that young man I saw there
this morning was in love with her sister; that wouldn't make this one
cry. There's something else--yes, there certainly is something else."
In a salon set aside for card-players, Messieurs Clairval and Gerbault
and young Anatole de Raincy met.
"How's this? you are not dancing?" they said to the last named.
"Oh! dear me, no! I wath never mad over danthing," replied the young
dandy, looking at himself in a mirror; "and there'th thuch a crowd! How
can one expect to do anything? When I danth, I like to let mythelf go."
"Do you mean that you dance the cancan, De Raincy?" queried a young man
with a jovial face, putting his hand on Anatole's shoulder.
"How thtupid you are, Vauflers! Jutht becauth I like to put a little
grath into my danthing, it dothn't follow that I danth the cancan."
"Well, you see, I don't dance half lying down, as you do."
"In the firtht plath, I thtoop, not lie down--a very different thing.
You ought to know that, to danth properly, you mutht thtoop a little. I
learned that from a great danther."
"From Vestris?"
"You tire me! Ever thinth thith fellow hath been eighth clerk to a
broker, he maketh fun of everybody."
"What news from the Bourse to-night?" said Monleard, accosting the young
man whom Anatole had called Vauflers.
"You know that several firms were sold out this morning. I believe that
we haven't seen the end yet. There's need of a thorough weeding-out.
There are some fellows who have been playing too high for a long time."
Auguste pressed his lips together and walked away.
"Shan't we have a game of bouillotte?" said the young man.
"Bouillotte ith bad form jutht now, my dear fellow; nobody playth it,"
replied tall Anatole, gazing admiringly at his gloves.
"Bezique's the proper thing, I suppose?"
"No, lanthquenet thtill."
"Ah, yes! because you can ruin yourself faster at that. Thanks! I think
I'll go and dance. I asked the hostess for a dance, and she put my name
down; but I was twenty-first on the list."
"In that cath, your turn will come by to-morrow night."
"Oh! Madame Monleard will make an exception in my favor."
"Why tho, pray?"
"Because I am her broker."
"Oho! do you mean that Madame Monleard gambleth on the Bourth?"
"Why, yes--moderately; but she's luckier than her husband."
"Tho he hath been lothing, hath he?"
"I should say so!--immense sums, of late. Indeed, I will admit that I
was much surprised at his giving a party--although, to be sure, that is
sometimes an excellent way of deceiving people as to one's position and
retaining one's credit."
"The deuth! what are you talking about?"
"At this moment, I have an idea that he is staking all to win all, as
they say, on a certain deal; but if he loses----"
"Look out! here comth hith father-in-law. Come thith way."
The two young men, arm in arm, walked into another room.
"Mon Dieu! how beautifully your wife dances!" said Batonnin to Monleard,
as Fanny whirled by them, dancing the mazurka with a partner who guided
her perfectly and executed some novel steps.
"What! did you say that it's too warm here?"
"No, I never complain of the heat; I'm a genuine African in that
respect. I was admiring Madame Monleard's dancing--she's dancing the
mazurka at this moment; there they go again! I must say that she has a
partner who does himself credit, too; he holds her so firmly, and she
trusts herself to his guidance with such abandon! a very pretty fellow
that! What is his name? By the way--what! he has gone, and without
answering my question! Hum! They may say what they choose, but Monsieur
Monleard isn't in his usual form to-night; he's too preoccupied, too
distraught. It's a good thing that that doesn't keep his wife from
dancing."
About two o'clock, the ladies were invited to repair to a table laden
with a magnificent supper; as the company was so large that all could
not sup at once, the ladies took their turn first, and the men waited
until they had finished, except a few impatient individuals, such as
one sees at almost all balls, who found a way to squeeze in at the
table with the ladies, where, on the pretext of waiting on them, they
did not fail to help themselves abundantly to everything that was most
delicate and appetizing. Indeed, it not infrequently happens that, after
they have laid hands upon everything within reach, and eaten
uninterruptedly, while most of the ladies have done nothing but talk,
these same gallant creatures return to the supper table with the men,
and fall to anew, as if they had eaten nothing. There are some worthies
capable of that; we ourselves have seen it done.
Monsieur Batonnin tried to find a seat at the ladies' table, but,
despite his everlasting smile, no one would make room for him. So he
decided to remain standing, and naturally stationed himself behind
Adolphine, whom he pestered with attentions; for Adolphine had no
appetite, and refused almost everything which he ordered for her, and
which he did not fail to obtain at once by saying:
"It's for the sister of Madame Monleard, the queen of the fete."
With these magic words, Batonnin was quite sure to obtain all that he
could possibly want; but if his courtesy was absolutely wasted, it was
not so with the dishes which were refused; for when Adolphine said:
"Thanks, monsieur; but I will not eat anything," the soft-spoken
gentleman invariably adjudged what happened to be on the plate to
himself, saying:
"Well, since you don't care for it, faith! I'll eat it myself."
And, thanks to this clever management, he supped quite as well as,
perhaps better than, if he had had a seat among the ladies. To be sure,
he had to eat standing.
When the ladies had left the table, and the men came to take their
places, Monsieur Batonnin, whether by accident or from absent-mindedness,
imitating the worthies of whom we spoke a moment ago, found himself
seated beside Monsieur Clairval.
"What! eating another supper?" queried the latter.
"Why another? I haven't supped yet."
"But, unless I am very much mistaken, when I looked in just now to
admire the charming picture presented by all the ladies seated at the
table, you were behind Mademoiselle Adolphine, with a plate in your
hand, and eating what was on the plate."
"That is to say, I was standing behind Mademoiselle Adolphine to wait
upon her, and I passed her whatever she wanted."
"I saw that you were eating all the time."
"Tasting, perhaps, but if you call that eating! And then, I was standing
up. What one eats standing never counts."
"Well, my dear Monsieur Batonnin, I don't undertake to reprove you for
it; on the contrary, you deserve to be congratulated.--Honor to great
talents of all varieties! A good stomach is a blessing of Providence.
The wealthiest of men, if his liver doesn't work right, is, to my mind,
less to be envied than the poor man who can readily digest his
bacon-rind and similar delicacies."
Auguste Monleard joined his male guests at supper, to do the honors of
his table; he began by pouring down several glasses of champagne; then,
like one who is determined to divert his thoughts at any cost, he drank
glass after glass of different kinds of wine, in rapid succession. This
manoeuvre succeeded; in a quarter of an hour his brow had cleared,
his eyes sparkled; he talked with all his guests, and challenged them to
drink with him; in fact, he was almost gay, and he laughed--a laugh that
was a little nervous, a little forced, perhaps, but which produced a
most excellent effect toward the end of the supper. When the gentlemen
finally left the table, at which they had made quite an extended
sojourn, they did not fail to call for a _cotillon_, the dance which has
become almost the obligatory conclusion of a ball; and Auguste Monleard
proposed to lead it.
The suggestion was received with delight by the dancing contingent.
Adolphine, greatly surprised by the animation now exhibited by her
brother-in-law, mentioned it to her sister.
"Your husband seems to be in high spirits now," she said; "and I am very
glad to see him so."
"Why! did you think that he wasn't in good spirits before?" rejoined
Fanny. "You are wrong, my dear girl! Auguste always enjoys
himself--only, he doesn't look as if he did; that's his way."
The cotillon came to an end, and the tired dancers began at last to
think of retiring. Batonnin, having supped satisfactorily twice over,
left the house with Anatole de Raincy, humming:
"'La belle nuit! la belle fete!'"
"I know that! it ith from a comic opera," said the tall young man.
"True; but you must agree that it's apropos: _la belle fete!_"
"Yeth, but I'm afraid--according to what Vauflers thaid----"
"What did he say?"
"That Augutht Monleard had lotht enormouth thumth on the Bourth of late,
and that he mutht be in a very bad way."
"Ah! the devil! that's why I found him so distraught, then. At supper,
he drank a lot to forget himself, I noticed that."
"After all, he may pull up again--luck may turn. Ah! I thee a cab.
Monthieur, I with you good-night, or rather good-day, for here'th the
light."
"Your servant, monsieur."
Batonnin returned to his lodgings alone and on foot, saying to himself:
"Well, whether Monleard is ruined or not, I had two suppers, all the
same!"
Our friends and acquaintances almost always welcome our misfortunes in
such wise.
XXXIV
AUNT DUPONCEAU
Cherami, in accordance with his usual custom, spent very freely the
money Gustave had given him; he still possessed a few francs out of the
five hundred, however; and his appearance was very decent, too, for he
had presented himself with a new hat, and he still had his new switch.
One cold but beautiful morning, about ten o'clock, as he strolled in the
direction of the Madeleine, to give himself an appetite, the ci-devant
Beau Arthur saw coming toward him a woman of enormous size, holding by
each hand a small boy, one of whom wore a hat surrounded by feathers,
which gave him the look of a trained monkey. The children, as well as
their mother, were so enveloped and swaddled in winter garments that
they had not the free use of their limbs. These three living bundles
rolled along the street, lurching against one another; but when they
came face to face with our stroller, they halted, and the stout woman
exclaimed:
"I cannot be mistaken; it is certainly Monsieur Cherami, out walking so
early!"
Cherami had already recognized Madame Capucine and her sons, and, being
by no means overjoyed at the meeting, would gladly have turned back to
avoid it, but it was too late; so he courageously made the best of it,
and replied, with a courteous salutation:
"Myself, fair lady; and I congratulate myself on the good-fortune which
I owe to chance; for you are far from home. Do you happen to be going to
Romainville?"
"No, monsieur, no; we are not going to Romainville; this isn't the way
there, either," replied Madame Capucine, eying her interlocutor from
head to foot; and the great change which had taken place in the apparel
of her debtor was naturally reflected in her manner of speaking to him.
As the change was altogether to his advantage, she smiled graciously,
and continued:
"Aunt Duponceau don't live at Romainville any more; she has sold the
house she used to own there."
"Indeed? why did she do that?"
"Oh! because--because that neighborhood has such a reputation. You know
the ballad: That _lovely wood, to lovers----"_
"_Presents a thousand charms!_--Yes, I know it by heart. But there's no
wood left, except a little bit which has been bought by a novelist of
whom I am very fond, and all surrounded by walls--not the novelist, but
his woods; so I don't see what could have frightened your Aunt Duponceau
so."
"Mon Dieu! you know how ill-natured people can be! There was always
somebody to say: 'Ah! so you live at Romainville; that's the place for
grisettes, gin-shops, and low dance-halls! one always meets a lot of
drunken people there.'"
"I should say that you find them everywhere."
"It isn't the fashionable drive nowadays."
"The most fashionable resort isn't always the most amusing."
"You don't see the latest styles there."
"Oh, well! if you go into the country to see the styles, you would do
better never to go anywhere but the Opera."
"But the strongest reason, and the one that finally decided my aunt, is
that there isn't any railroad to Romainville."
"Surely that must be a great deprivation to a person who, when she is
once settled in her country-house, never goes to Paris at all."
"And so my aunt bought a house in the opposite direction--at Passy."
"Passy and Romainville are not exactly side by side, that is true; and
they are not much alike, either."
"Oh! they're entirely different!--Aristoloche, do keep still!--Passy's a
fashionable, convenient place to live in; you can't go out of the house
unless you're dressed up."
"That must be very pleasant when one's in the country."
"The houses all have polished floors from top to bottom. The one my aunt
bought--don't jump about so, Narcisse!--the one my aunt bought is
smaller than her house at Romainville; but it cost a lot more. There's
no fruit in the garden, but it's ever so much smaller."
"What does grow in the garden--ducks?"
"There's a little honeysuckle, and ivy, and grass--oh! it's well kept
up."
"If it satisfies all of you, that's the main point.--Are you going to
the country on such a cold day as this?"
"Aunt always expects us Saturday, to stay till Monday."
"Ah, yes! it is Saturday, isn't it?--just as it was when I met you
waiting for an omnibus at Porte Saint-Martin."
"But, since then--Aristoloche, if you move again, I'll box your
ears!--since then, it seems to me, Monsieur Cherami, that things have
improved a little with you--judging by your dress?"
"Yes, my dear Madame Capucine; I have collected a little money that was
owing me.--Mon Dieu! that reminds me; twenty times I have had it in my
mind to look you up and settle that little balance I still owe your
husband; but something else has always put it out of my head; it's a
mere trifle, to be sure, but I propose to settle it very soon."
"Very good! but if you want to see Capucine, there's a very simple way
to do it--that is, unless you are engaged for the day."
"The day? I can do what I choose with it, I am as free as air."
"Then come with us to Passy, to my aunt's; she expects us to breakfast,
in fact; we're a little late, and--Narcisse, will you please not pull
the feathers of your beautiful Henri IV hat like that; you'll spoil
them!"
"The old hat makes me squint; it puts my eyes out."
"What a bad boy! A hat that your aunt gave you!"
"You were saying, my dear Madame Capucine?"
"I was asking you to come with us to Aunt Duponceau's; you know her; and
to-night, at six o'clock, Capucine will join us there, and you can
settle your little account with him. What do you think of my scheme?"
Cherami reflected a moment, then replied:
"Your scheme hits me--I mean, it suits me perfectly. The company of a
charming woman--an improvised trip to the country--this breakfast, which
will not detract from the pleasure of the occasion--I am at your
service. Let's be off."
"Ah! that's very good of you!"
And the stout lady smiled a smile of lingering sweetness at Cherami, who
was in her eyes a very handsome fellow now that he was well dressed. He
had already formed his plan, into which the payment of his debt did not
enter; but he was certain of a good breakfast, and probably of being
invited to dine as well, with Aunt Duponceau; after dinner, he would
readily find some pretext for escaping from the Capucine family.
"Here comes the Passy omnibus," said Madame Capucine; "let's not miss
it."
They entered the omnibus; Madame Capucine took Master Aristoloche on her
lap, in order to avoid paying for a seat for him; she requested Cherami
to do as much for Narcisse, a suggestion which did not seem to tempt the
ex-beau. Luckily for him, the urchin insisted upon having a seat all to
himself, threatening, if they did not humor him, to sit on his Henri IV
hat. This threat produced its effect: Master Narcisse took his seat in a
corner, and Cherami declared that the little fellow deserved to be put
by himself.
The omnibus started, and they soon arrived at Passy; thereupon Cherami
had no choice but to offer Madame Capucine his arm to her aunt's abode.
The little boys went before them, jumping and frolicking. At Passy they
were in no danger from wagons, and Master Narcisse had seized Cherami's
switch, with which he belabored all the stone posts and benches; a
proceeding which was far from amusing to the owner of the stick, who
expected from moment to moment to see it in the same state as Monsieur
Courbichon's cane.
"That little fellow promises well!" he exclaimed.
"Isn't he full of ideas?"
"I am convinced that he will end by breaking my switch. But how does it
happen that you didn't bring your maid Adelaide?"
"Oh! don't talk to me about that girl, I beg!"
"What! can it be that the faithful Adelaide stole from you?"
"No, it wasn't her honesty that gave out; it was something else. Ah! who
would ever have thought, who would ever have believed---- An ugly, thin,
shapeless creature. Oh! men have very beastly tastes sometimes!"
"The deuce! do you mean to say that Capucine----"
"What! oh! no, indeed, monsieur; it wasn't my husband! Ah!"
And Madame Capucine looked up at the sky with an expression which seemed
to say:
"If it only had been!"
Then she added indignantly:
"Ballot, monsieur; Ballot, our young clerk!"
"The devil! that young man you liked so well?"
"To be sure. As if anyone could have dreamed! He behaved very well at
first."
"And he went astray in the kitchen?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"But was it perfectly certain? People are so ill-natured!"
"They were caught, monsieur; caught among the bunches of onions."
"Enough! tell me no more; you would bring tears to my eyes."
"So, as you can imagine, I purified my house on the instant; I dismissed
Mademoiselle Adelaide."
"And your clerk too?"
"He went of his own accord. We might have forgiven him, perhaps; he was
so young!"
"Of course, and the smell of onions goes to the heart."
"But Monsieur Ballot chose to lose his head, and away he went."
"You will find somebody to take his place."
"That's what I'm looking for at this moment. Ah! Monsieur Cherami, a
young man who had--my whole confidence! You can't rely on anything or
anybody nowadays!"
"That's the only way to avoid being taken in."
The stout lady heaved a tremendous sigh and leaned heavily on the arm of
her escort, who said to himself:
"I wonder if she would like to have me replace Monsieur Ballot?--Thanks!
I have my cue."
In due time, they arrived at Madame Duponceau's house. She was a little
woman, who shook her head constantly when conversing, so that she seemed
always to reply in the negative to the questions that were asked her.
She received Cherami with cordiality, although she barely knew him; but
she liked company, and was especially eager to have people admire her
house. Cherami was inclined to favor admiring her breakfast first; and,
as the young Capucines supported that idea, they repaired at once to the
dining-room.
The breakfast consisted of a pie, boiled eggs, ham, and coffee only; but
the pie was succulent, the eggs fresh, the ham tender, and the coffee
very strong, so that they breakfasted satisfactorily; then Aunt
Duponceau cried:
"You must come and see my house, from cellar to roof."