faithful acquaintances were accustomed to meet at Monsieur Gerbault's in
the evening and play cards. Among the faithful friends--faithful in
their attendance, that is--were Messieurs Clairval and Batonnin; among
those who came only occasionally was young Anatole de Raincy, who, like
a well-bred youth, had not taken offence at Adolphine's refusal of his
hand; and, being still a great lover of music, did not, because of that
refusal, renounce the pleasure of singing duets with her.
Since Fanny had been a widow, she had come regularly to her father's to
dinner on Thursday; her sparkling conversation and her playful humor,
upon which her bereavement had imposed silence for a fortnight at most,
contributed not a little to the success of the evening party. The young
widow, who knew that Anatole de Raincy had sought Adolphine's hand and
had been refused, never failed, when she found herself in that young
gentleman's company, to dart glances at him which might well have turned
his head, but for the fact that, in order to captivate him, a woman must
first of all possess a sweet voice; and Fanny sang very little, and then
her singing was not true.
So that Monsieur de Raincy did not respond to the glances of the pretty
widow, who soon confided to her sister that that Monsieur Anatole was
nothing but a canary; that he ought to be fed on nothing but chickweed.
On the day in question, Adolphine, when she was joined by her sister,
whom she had not seen during the week, experienced a feeling of
discomfort which she strove to overcome, saying to her hurriedly:
"I imagine that you will see someone here this evening whose presence
will not be distasteful to you."
"Ah! whom do you expect this evening, pray?"
"Monsieur Gustave Darlemont."
"Gustave! Is it possible? Gustave has returned, and you haven't told
me?"
"You have only just come; I couldn't tell you any sooner."
"But when did he return? When did you see him?"
"He came to see us on Monday; I believe he arrived in Paris the night
before."
"What! he has been here since Monday, and I didn't know it! And he's
coming to-night--you are quite sure? Did father invite him for
to-night?"
"Father didn't actually invite him; but he knows that we receive on
Thursdays, and, as he expressed a wish to visit us anew---- And then, he
knows that he will meet you."
"Did he talk much about me? Does he act as if he still loved me? Oh!
tell me everything he said, little sister; don't forget a single thing.
It is very important; I must know what to expect."
Adolphine made an effort, and replied in a voice trembling with emotion:
"Yes, Monsieur Gustave told me that he still loved you, that he had
never ceased to think of you."
"Oh! how sweet of him! There's constancy for you! And they say that men
can't be faithful!--The poor fellows: how they are slandered! Dear
Gustave! then he's well pleased that I am a widow, I suppose?"
"You can understand that he couldn't quite say that."
"No, no, but he thinks it; that's enough. And he's coming? Mon Dieu! how
does my hair look? it seems to me that this cap hides my forehead too
much."
"You look very well; and, besides, doesn't a woman always look well to
her lover?"
"Oh! my dear girl, in order to please, one must always try to look
pretty."
And Fanny ran to a mirror; she arranged and rearranged her hair, took
off her cap and put it on again; and finally tossed it aside, saying:
"I certainly look better without a cap."
"But, sister, I supposed that your mourning required----"
"My dear girl, I've been a widow more than six months; I have a right to
arrange my head as I please, and when one has fine hair it's never a
crime to show it."
During dinner, Fanny talked incessantly of Gustave; Adolphine said
nothing; Monsieur Gerbault let his elder daughter talk on, but he kept a
serious countenance and looked frequently at Adolphine. At the time that
she fainted at the idea that Gustave was dead, a sudden light had shone
in upon her father's mind; but he had made no sign; he respected his
younger daughter's secret, although at the bottom of his heart he was
the more deeply touched by her suffering, because he could see no way of
putting an end to it.
The dinner seemed horribly long to Fanny; she asked for the coffee
before her father had finished his dessert, and kept leaving the table
to look at herself in the mirror. This manoeuvre was repeated so often
that Monsieur Gerbault could not resist the temptation to say to her,
with a smile:
"My dear, it seems to me that, for a widow, you are rather coquettish."
"In my opinion, father," she made haste to reply, "a widow is more
excusable for being coquettish than a married woman whose husband is
alive; for, you see, a widow is free."
"Yes, no doubt that is true, especially when she has been a widow a long
while."
"Well, do you call six months nothing? And I am in my seventh!"
"Yes, indeed! yes, indeed!--Never mind; the story of the _Matron of
Ephesus_ no longer seems improbable to me."
"What's that about the _Matron of Ephesus_? I don't know that story."
"It's a fable; but it might very well be history, after all."
"Ah! did someone ring?"
"I didn't hear anything."
"How late your people come!"
"Do you think so? It's only seven o'clock."
"Nonsense! Your clock is slow."
"It keeps excellent time."
"Oh! I don't know what's the matter with me; I can't keep still."
Adolphine followed her sister with her eyes, thinking:
"It's her love for him that makes her so coquettish and so impatient!
It's very funny; when he used to come before, I never thought of looking
in my mirror; I thought of him, not of myself."
At last, the bell rang; it was Monsieur Clairval, cold, phlegmatic,
taciturn. Next came Madame Mirallon, who always wore full dress, even at
small parties. Next came a lawyer and a doctor, enthusiastic whist
players, who were constantly disputing, one being a hot partisan of the
short-suit lead, the other declaring that a good player would never
stoop to that.
At every ring, Fanny gazed eagerly at the door; she made a funny little
wry face when she saw that the person who appeared was not he whom she
expected.
"My gentleman keeps us waiting a long while!" she murmured; then ran to
her sister.--"Adolphine, are you sure you told him Thursday? Perhaps you
said some other day?"
"No. At all events, he knows that we have always received on Thursday."
"He knows, he knows! When a man travels so much, he can easily forget.
It's after eight o'clock, and you see he doesn't come."
"Eight o'clock isn't late. Never fear; he'll come."
"You think so?"
"Oh! I am sure of it."
"You are quite sure that he still loves me?"
"If he doesn't, why should he have told me that he did?"
"Oh! my dear, men say so many things that they don't think!"
"I can't understand how anyone can lie about love."
"Ah! you make me laugh; love's just the thing they lie most
about.--There's the bell. This time it must be he."
Fanny's expectation was deceived once more; Monsieur Batonnin appeared,
with his inevitable smile, and his measured words.
"What a bore!" muttered the young woman, moving uneasily on her chair;
"it's that wretched Batonnin--the doll-faced man, as we used to call him
at our parties."
"Don't you like him? Why, he used to go to your house----"
"Well! what does that prove? Do you imagine that, in society, we are
fond of everybody we receive? On the contrary, three-quarters of the
time the greatest pleasure we have is in passing all our guests in
review and picking them to pieces."
"Ah! what a pitiful sort of pleasure! But whom can you share it with?
for, if you speak ill of everybody----"
"You take a new-comer, and go and sit down with him in a corner of the
salon; and there, on the pretext of telling him who people are, you give
everybody a curry-combing. It's awfully amusing!"
"But the new-comer, if he isn't an idiot, must say to himself: 'As soon
as I have gone, she'll say as much about me.'"
"Oh! we don't even wait till he's gone to do that."
Monsieur Batonnin, having paid his respects to Monsieur Gerbault and to
the card-players, joined the two sisters.
"How are the charming widow and her lovely sister? The rose and the
bud--or, rather, two buds--or two roses; for, both being flowers, and
the flowers being sisters, and having thorns--why----"
"Come, Monsieur Batonnin, make up your mind. I want to know whether I am
a rose or a bud," said Fanny, glancing at the guest with a mocking
expression.
"Madame, being no longer unmarried, you are necessarily a rose."
"All right; that fixes my status! And my sister is a bud?"
"Yes, to be sure--but I am pained to observe that this charming bud has
drooped a little on its stalk for some time past."
"Do you hear, Adolphine? Monsieur Batonnin thinks that you are drooping
on your stalk, which means, I presume, that you are losing your
freshness."
"That isn't exactly what I meant to say."
"Don't try to back down, Monsieur Batonnin; besides, you are right; my
sister has changed of late. She assures us that she is not ill, that she
has no pain; for my part, I am convinced that something is the matter,
but she doesn't choose to make me her confidante."
"Because I have nothing to confide," rejoined Adolphine, in a grave
tone; "and it seems to me that monsieur might very well have avoided
this subject."
"Excuse me, mademoiselle; I should be much distressed to have offended
you; it was my friendship for you which led me to----"
"I myself, monsieur, have never been able to understand the kind of
friendship which leads one to say to people point-blank: 'Mon Dieu! how
you have changed! you are deathly pale! are you ill? you look very
poorly!' If the person to whom you say it is really well, then you have
seen awry; if she is really ill, you run the risk of making her worse by
frightening her as to her condition. In either case, you see, it would
be better to say nothing. Such manifestations of interest resemble those
of the friends who can't reach you quickly enough when they have bad
news to tell, but whom you never see when you have had any good fortune
for which congratulations would be in order."
Monsieur Batonnin bit his lips, and tried to think of an answer; but
they had ceased to pay any heed to him, for the door of the salon opened
once more, and this time it was Gustave who appeared.
XLV
JOYS AND TORMENTS OF LOVE
The young man, having shaken hands with Monsieur Gerbault, walked toward
Adolphine and her sister; it was easy to see how excited and perturbed
he was; but Adolphine, whose emotion was even greater perhaps, hastily
left her seat and, after responding to Gustave's greeting, went to talk
with Monsieur Clairval, who was not playing cards at that moment; so
that there was no one to interfere with the interview which Gustave
desired to have with her sister.
As for Fanny, she was absolutely unembarrassed; she smiled sweetly on
Gustave, greeted him as if she had seen him the day before, and said,
pointing to a seat by her side:
"So here you are at last, monsieur le voyageur! Mon Dieu! you seem to be
imitating the Wandering Jew nowadays; you travel all the time, you are
never at rest. Do you know, monsieur, that your friends are not
reconciled to your long absences, and you surely will put an end to your
peregrinations--unless you have a fancy to discover a new world?"
Gustave, bewildered by the jocular tone in which the widow addressed
him, was unable for a moment to find words in which to reply. Fanny
interpreted his confusion to her own advantage, and continued, but with
a change of manner, and in an almost sentimental tone:
"Many things have happened since we met."
"Yes, madame; I have heard of the--loss you have sustained; and I beg
you to believe that I shared the grief which you must have felt."
"I don't doubt it; you have so much delicacy of feeling, Monsieur
Gustave! Yes, I had a very cruel experience, although Monsieur Monleard
hardly deserved the tears I shed for him. He was a proud man,
overflowing with vanity, hard-hearted, loving only himself, conceited,
self-sufficient; but he is dead, I don't mean to speak ill of him,
although he left me in a decidedly equivocal position. Ah! if I had
known--if I could have foreseen. I have bitterly regretted
what--what----" Then, suddenly changing her tone again, and becoming
playful once more: "You are just from Berlin, I hear? Is there much fun
there? Are the balls gorgeous? do the women dress well? does everybody
go to the theatre? The Germans are very fond of music; you must have
gone to concerts and evening parties and the play a great deal. Ah! what
fortunate creatures men are! They can do whatever they please, while we
poor women are obliged to stay at home, and, in many cases, never have
anyone come to see us! That's the way I've been living for six months;
and I am terribly bored; oh! terribly!"
"You had your sister, at least, to share your troubles."
"My sister! She's a lively creature, isn't she? I don't know what's been
the matter with her lately, but she's a regular extinguisher. And then,
you know, my temperament isn't like Adolphine's; she is melancholy by
nature, and I am very light-headed. Don't you remember, Gustave?
Heavens! what a mad creature I am! here I am calling you Gustave, just
as I used to before I was married! Does that offend you?"
"Oh! you can't think it; it reminds me of such a happy time!"
"Why, I don't see but that that time has come back; for we are in the
same position that we were then--almost."
Gustave could not restrain a sigh at that _almost_. The young widow made
haste to continue:
"And now that I am free, that I am my own mistress, won't you do me the
favor of coming to see me sometimes, Monsieur Gustave? Won't you have a
little pity on the tedium of a poor widow, who was so anxious for you to
come back, who talked about you every day with Adolphine?"
"What, madame! can it be true? you have thought sometimes of me?"
"He asks me if I have thought of him! he doubts it!--Is it because you
had altogether forgotten me?"
"I, forget you? Ah! that would be impossible! Your lovely features are
engraved on my heart, on my mind. Although far from you, I saw you all
the time. Ah! Fanny, when one has once loved you.--But, pardon me,
madame, I am losing my head; I call you Fanny, as I used."
"That doesn't offend me in the least; on the contrary, I like it. But
just see what faces Monsieur Batonnin is making at us! One would say
that he was trying to throw his eyes at us. Mon Dieu! how funny he is
when he looks like that! Ha! ha! ha! it's enough to kill one."
"Madame Monleard is in great spirits to-night," said Monsieur Clairval
to Monsieur Batonnin, who replied:
"I've noticed that she's been in much better spirits ever since she's
been a widow."
"That Monsieur Batonnin, with his soft-spoken ways, always has something
unkind to say," muttered Madame de Mirallon.
"And he smears honey on his words, to make them go down; that's the
custom."
Adolphine had walked mechanically to the piano; she was suffering
intensely, she would have liked to leave the salon, but she dared not,
because it would have worried her father. To make her misery complete,
Monsieur Batonnin joined her.
"Are we going to have the pleasure of hearing you sing, mademoiselle?"
"No, monsieur; I could not possibly sing; I have a very sore throat."
"I trust, mademoiselle, that you are not still offended with me because
I thought that you looked ill?"
"Oh! not at all, monsieur; indeed, I think that you must have been
right, for I don't feel very well this evening."
"Madame your sister is well enough for two, I judge, she is in such good
spirits; she seems to be talking a good deal with that gentleman. Isn't
he the same one who was with you one morning when I came to your room
with your father?"
"Yes, monsieur; that is he."
"He was very dismal then; it seems that his gloom has disappeared, for
he is laughing heartily with your sister. Are they acquainted?"
"Why, to be sure; Monsieur Gustave is an old friend of ours."
"Very good! I said to myself: 'Madame Monleard doesn't stand much on
ceremony with that young man; he must be an old acquaintance, at
least.'"
To avoid listening any longer to Monsieur Batonnin, Adolphine seated
herself by the whist table, and pretended to watch the game; but, sit
where she would, she heard her sister's exclamations, whispering, and
laughter, and the evening seemed endless to her.
At last the clock struck eleven; Fanny rose and prepared to take her
leave. Gustave looked at her, as if undecided as to what he should do,
but the young widow observed:
"Monsieur Clairval is playing whist; besides, I don't want him always to
have the trouble of going home with me; and as Monsieur Gustave is here,
perhaps he would be willing to escort me as far as my door."
Gustave's face beamed; he hastened to say that he should be too happy to
offer her his arm. Whereupon, Fanny made haste to say good-night to her
father and sister.
The young man, in his turn, went to Adolphine, and said to her in an
undertone:
"Dear little sister, I am a very happy man! She has given me permission
to call on her; she has even given me to understand that she regrets
having refused to marry me; in short, she is touched by my constancy."
"It is well; be happy, that is my dearest wish; and, above all things,
go to my sister's; that will be much better, believe me, than to come to
court her here."
Gustave was about to reply, but Fanny called him and took him away.
Thereupon Adolphine went to her room, saying to herself:
"Such evenings as this are too horrible; I shall not have the courage to
endure them often. Oh! let them be happy together! but I pray that he
may not come here any more, that I may not be forced to be a witness of
his love for another!"
XLVI
IN WHICH CHERAMI ACTS LIKE SAINT ANTHONY
Gustave did not fail to take advantage of the permission Fanny had
accorded him. Two days after the party at which they had met, he called
upon the young widow, who greeted him thus:
"I began to think that you were off on your travels again, and that we
shouldn't see you for another six months."
"Oh! I have no desire to travel now; I am too happy in Paris; especially
if you allow me to come to see you."
"What good does it do for me to allow it, when you don't come? I
expected you the day before yesterday, I expected you yesterday."
"I was afraid of being presumptuous if I took advantage too soon of the
permission you gave me."
"I thought that you wouldn't stand on ceremony, and that we should be on
the same terms together as before my marriage to Monsieur Monleard."
These words were accompanied by such a soft glance that Gustave no
longer doubted that he was loved. He took Fanny's hand and covered it
with kisses; she did not resist, and her hand responded tenderly to the
pressure of his. Any other than Gustave would probably have carried
further his desires and his acts, but he had long been accustomed to
look upon Fanny as the woman whom he wished to make his wife; and in his
love there was a sort of respect which her widow's dress could not fail
to intensify.
So Gustave confined himself to repeating that he had never ceased to be
enamored of her whom he had hoped to call his wife, and that he would be
very, very happy if his hopes could be gratified at last. For her part,
Fanny gave him to understand that while she might once have been
ambitious and fickle, those failings should be charged to her age and
consequent giddiness, and that, in reality, her heart had never been in
agreement with her vanity.
Then the young widow, by a natural transition, adroitly led Gustave on
to speak of his position and prospects. He was assured of ten thousand
francs a year if he remained in his uncle's banking-house; he could hope
for more in the future; to be sure, Monsieur Grandcourt would not be
pleased to have his nephew marry, but he would place no obstacle in the
way of the execution of his project. They would not live in the banker's
house, but would take pleasant apartments not far from his offices; they
would keep no carriage; he would take his wife to the theatre very
often, and to the country; he would not give her diamonds, but she
should have handsome dresses, and, as she was charming in herself, she
would always be the loveliest of women, even if she were not covered
with jewels.
In such conversation as this, forming the most attractive plans for the
future, the hours which Gustave passed at Fanny's side seemed very
short. Being entirely at liberty to see his love at her own home, he
went much less to Monsieur Gerbault's. As for Adolphine, she did not go
to her sister's at all; for she knew that she would meet Gustave there,
and she avoided his presence as much as possible.
Two months passed thus, during which time Cherami saw very little of
Gustave, who spent with Fanny all the time that he could spare from his
business.
But one morning, just as our lover was starting to call on his enslaver,
Cherami caught him on the wing.
"Par la sambleu! my dear Gustave, is there no way of having a word with
you? Have you nothing to say to your friend? Or am I no longer your
friend? One would say that you avoided me!"
"No, no, my dear Arthur, far from it; it always gives me great pleasure
to see you; but you are well aware that I am in love, more in love than
ever, and that I pass with Fanny all the time I can steal from my
duties."
"Very good! and tell me about this love of yours; sapristi! are you
satisfied? Does it go as you want it to this time? Tell me that much, at
least."
"Ah! my friend, I am the happiest of men! Fanny loves me; I can't
possibly doubt it now. As soon as her mourning is at an end, we are to
be married; we are already making our plans, our projects for the
future; next month, as it will be almost ten months then, we shall begin
to look about for apartments, which I shall have furnished and decorated
in advance. I intend that Fanny shall find them fascinating."
"Well, I see that everything is going all right. The little woman is
yours this time--and you think so much of her!--And her sister, the good
Adolphine--do you still see her?"
"I have seen very little of her lately; she never comes to her sister's,
and that surprises me; twice I have tried to talk with Adolphine, to
tell her that my marriage to Fanny was settled; but I couldn't find her,
she had gone out; for I can't believe that she would have refused to
see me--her brother."
"In all this excitement, you haven't thought about a place for me, I
suppose?"
"Pardon me, I did mention it to my uncle. He doesn't seem to believe
that you are serious in your desire for employment."
"Ah! pardieu, if your uncle has got to have a hand in it, I am very
certain that I shall never get a place!"
"Never fear; I will attend to it myself, but there's no hurry. Are you
in need of money? Tell me."
"Why, no, I am not in need of money. Do you suppose that I have already
gone through the thousand francs you loaned me?"
"But that was more than two months ago, and----"
"True, and formerly I should have seen the last of it in a week; I
should have made only seven mouthfuls of it. But to-day it's different!
I told you that I had reformed. I have discovered, just at the beginning
of Boulevard du Temple, a soup dealer who supplies dinners; and
delicious dinners, too, on my word of honor! you don't have a great
variety of dishes, to be sure; but everything is good. Excellent roast
beef; you would fancy you were in London; and you can dine abundantly
for eighteen sous. Eighteen sous! I used to give more than that to the
waiter."
"My friend, you shouldn't go to extremes in anything; it seems to me
that you are carrying your reformation too far."
"I am very well pleased; I believe that I shall end by living on my five
hundred and fifty francs a year; when that time comes, I propose to
parade the streets between two clarionets, to exhibit myself."
"After I am married, I will find you a suitable place."
"Make haste and marry, then, that I may have my cue. By the way, I
venture to believe that it won't come off without notice to me? I don't
ask to be invited to the wedding; that would be presumptuous; but I
desire, at least, to salute the bridal couple when they leave the
church."
"And I propose that you shall be of the wedding party. We shall not give
a ball,--her widowhood is too recent,--but a handsome banquet, and I
hope that, on that day, you will forget your reformation. But, adieu! I
am late, she is expecting me. You will hear from me soon."