THE DINNER IN THE ARBOUR.
The Duc de Senneterre, who was about Olivier Raymond's age, had a
distinguished bearing, and an exceedingly handsome and attractive face,
with black hair and moustache, and eyes of a deep rich blue. His attire
was marked with an elegant simplicity.
"Uncle, this is Gerald, my best friend, of whom I have so often spoken,"
said Olivier.
"I am delighted to see you, monsieur," said the veteran, cordially
offering his hand to his nephew's friend.
"And I, commander," rejoined Gerald, with that deference to age which is
imbibed from prolonged military service, "am sincerely glad to have the
honour of pressing your hand. I know all your goodness to Olivier, and
as I regard him almost as a brother, you must understand how thoroughly
I have always appreciated your devotion to him."
"Gentlemen, will you have your soup in the house or under the arbour, as
you usually do when the weather is fine?" inquired Madame Barbancon.
"We will dine in the arbour--if the commander approves, my dear Madame
Barbancon," responded Gerald; "it will be charming; the afternoon is
perfect."
"Monsieur knows me?" exclaimed the housekeeper, looking first at
Olivier, and then at the duke, in great astonishment.
"Know you, Madame Barbancon?" exclaimed Gerald, gaily. "Why, hasn't
Olivier spoken of you a hundred times while we were in camp, and
haven't we had more than one quarrel all on your account?"
"On my account?"
"Most assuredly. That rascal of an Olivier is a great Bonapartist, you
know. He cannot forgive any one for detesting that odious tyrant, and I
took your part, for I, too, abhor the tyrant--that vile Corsican ogre!"
"Corsican ogre! You are a man after my own heart, monsieur. Let us shake
hands--we understand each other," cried the housekeeper, triumphantly.
And she extended her bony hand to Gerald, who shook it heartily, at the
same time remarking to the commander:
"Upon my word, sir, you had better take care, and you, too, Olivier,
will have to look out now. Madame Barbancon had no one to help her
before, now she will have a sturdy auxiliary in me."
"Look here, Madame Barbancon," exclaimed Olivier, coming to the rescue
of his friend whom the housekeeper seemed inclined to monopolise,
"Gerald must be nearly famished, you forget that. Come, I'll help you
bring the table out here."
"True, I had forgotten all about dinner," cried the housekeeper,
hastening towards the house.
Seeing Olivier start after her, as if to aid her, Gerald said:
"Wait a moment, my dear fellow, do you suppose I'm going to leave all
the work to you?"
Then turning to the commander:
"You don't object, I trust, commander. I am making very free, I know,
but when we were in the army together Olivier and I set the mess-table
more than once, so you will find that I'm not as awkward as you might
suppose."
It was a pleasure to see how cleverly and adroitly and gaily Gerald
assisted his former comrade in setting the table under the arbour. The
task was accomplished so quickly and neatly that one would have
supposed that the young duke, like his friend, must have been used to
poverty all his life.
To please his friend, Gerald, in half an hour, made a complete conquest
of the veteran and his housekeeper, who was delighted beyond expression
to see her anti-Bonapartist ally partake with great apparent enjoyment
of her onion soup, salad, and vinaigrette, to which Gerald even asked to
be helped twice.
It is needless to say that, during this cheerful repast, the veteran,
delicately led on by Gerald, was induced to talk of his campaigns; then,
this tribute of respect paid to their companion's superior years, the
two young men related all sorts of episodes of their college and army
life.
The veteran had lighted his pipe, and Gerald and Olivier their cigars,
when the latter happened to inquire of his friend:
"By the way, what has become of that scoundrel, Macreuse, who used to
play the spy on us at college? You remember him?--a big, light-haired
fellow, who used to cuff us soundly as he passed, just because he dared
to, being twice as big as we were."
At the name of Macreuse, Gerald's face took on an expression of mingled
contempt and aversion, and he replied:
"You speak rather slightingly,--M. Celestin de Macreuse, it seems to
me."
"_De_ Macreuse!" cried Olivier. "He must have treated himself to the
_de_ since we knew him, then. In those days his origin was shrouded in
mystery. Nobody knew anything about his parents. He was so poor that he
once ate half a dozen wood-lice to earn a sou."
"And then he was so horribly cruel," added Gerald; "do you remember his
putting those little birds' eyes out with a pin to see if they would fly
afterwards?"
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed the indignant commander. "Such a man as that
ought to be flayed alive."
"It would rejoice my heart to see your prediction fulfilled, commander,"
said Gerald, laughing. Then, turning to Olivier, he continued: "It will
surprise you very much, I think, when I tell you what I know of M.
Celestin de Macreuse. I have told you, I believe, how very exclusive the
society is in which my mother has always moved, so you can judge of my
astonishment when one evening, shortly after my return to Paris, I heard
the name of M. de Macreuse announced in my mother's drawing-room. It was
the very man. I had retained such an unpleasant recollection of the
fellow, that I went to my mother and said:
"'Why do you receive that man who just spoke to you,--that big,
light-haired, sallow man?'
"'Why, that is M. de Macreuse,' my mother replied, in tones indicative
of the profoundest respect.
"'And who is M. de Macreuse, my dear mother? I never saw him in your
house before.'
"'No, for he has just returned from his travels,' she answered. 'He is a
very distinguished and highly exemplary young man,--the founder of the
St. Polycarpe Mission.'
"'The deuce! And what is the St. Polycarpe Mission, my dear mother?'
"'It is a society that strives to make the poor resigned to their misery
by teaching them that the more they suffer here, the happier they will
be hereafter.'
"'_Se non e vero, e ben trovato_,' I laughingly remarked. 'But it seems
to me that this fellow has a very plump face to be advocating the good
effects of starvation.'
"'My son, I meant every word that I just said to you,' replied my
mother, gravely. 'Many highly esteemed persons have connected themselves
with M. de Macreuse's work,--a work to which he devotes himself with
truly evangelical zeal. But here he comes. I would like to introduce you
to him.'
"'Pray do nothing of the kind, mother,' I retorted, quickly. 'I am sure
to be impolite; I do not like the gentleman's looks; besides, what I
already know of him makes my antipathy to his acquaintance
insurmountable. We were at college together, and--'
"But I was unable to say any more; Macreuse was now close to my mother,
and I was standing beside her. 'My dear M. de Macreuse,' she said to her
protege, in the most amiable manner, after casting a withering look at
me, 'I wish to introduce my son, one of your former classmates, who will
be charmed to renew his acquaintance with you.'
"Macreuse bowed profoundly, then said, in a rather condescending way, 'I
have been absent from Paris some time, monsieur, and was consequently
ignorant of your return to France, so I did not expect to have the
honour of meeting you at your mother's house this evening. We were at
college together, and--'
"'That is true,' I interrupted, 'and I recollect perfectly well how you
played the spy on us to ingratiate yourself with the teachers; how you
would stoop to any dirty trick to make a penny; and how you put out the
eyes of little birds with pins. Possibly this last was in the charitable
hope that their sufferings here would profit them hereafter.'"
"A clever thrust that!" exclaimed the commander, with a hearty laugh.
"And what did Macreuse say?" asked Olivier.
"The scoundrel's big moon face turned scarlet. He tried to smile and
stammer out a few words, but suddenly my mother, looking at me with a
reproachful air, rose, and to rescue our friend from his embarrassment,
I suppose, said, 'M. de Macreuse, may I ask you to take me to get a cup
of tea?'"
"But how did this man gain an entrance into such an exclusive circle as
that of the Faubourg St Germain?" inquired Olivier.
"Nobody knows exactly," replied Gerald. "This much is true, however. If
one door in our circle opens, all the others soon do the same. But this
first door is hard to open, and who opened it for Macreuse nobody knows,
though some persons seem to think that it was Abbe Ledoux, a favourite
spiritual director in our set. This seems quite probable, and I have
taken almost as strong a dislike to the abbe as to Macreuse. If this
dislike needed any justification, it would have it, so far as I am
concerned, in the estimate of Macreuse's character formed by a singular
man who is rarely deceived in his judgment of persons."
"And who is this infallible man, pray?" inquired Olivier, smiling.
"A hunchback no taller than that," replied Gerald, indicating with his
hand a height of about four and a half feet.
"A hunchback?" repeated Olivier, greatly surprised.
"Yes, a hunchback, as quick-witted and determined as his satanic majesty
himself,--stiff as an iron bar to those whom he dislikes and despises,
but full of affection and devotion to those whom he honours--though such
persons, I am forced to admit, are rare--and never making the slightest
attempt to conceal from any individual the liking or aversion he or she
inspires."
"It is fortunate for him that his infirmity gives him this privilege of
plain speaking," remarked the commander. "But for that, your hunchback
would be likely to have a hard time of it."
"His infirmity?" said Gerald, laughing. "Though a hunchback, the Marquis
de Maillefort is, I assure you--"
"He is a marquis?" interrupted Olivier.
"Yes, a marquis, and an aristocrat of the old school. He is a scion of
the ducal house of Haut-martel, the head of which has resided in Germany
since 1830. But though he is a hunchback, M. de Maillefort, as I was
about to remark before, is as alert and vigorous as any young man, in
spite of his forty-five years. And, by the way, you and I consider
ourselves pretty good swordsmen, do we not?"
"Well, yes."
"Very well; the marquis could touch us eight times out of twelve. He
rivals the incomparable Bertrand. His movements are as light as a
bird's, and as swift as lightning itself."
"This brave little hunchback interests me very much," said the veteran.
"If he has fought any duels his adversaries must have cut strange
figures."
"The marquis has fought several duels, in all of which he evinced the
greatest coolness and courage, at least so my father, who was a personal
friend of the marquis, once told me."
"And he goes into society in spite of his infirmity?" inquired Olivier.
"Sometimes he frequents it assiduously; then absents himself for months
at a time. His is a very peculiar nature. My father told me that for
many years the marquis seemed to be in a state of profound melancholy,
but I have never seen him other than gay and amusing."
"But with his courage, his skill in the use of weapons, and his quick
wit, he is certainly a man to be feared."
"Yes, and you can easily imagine how greatly his presence disquiets
certain persons whom society continues to receive on account of their
birth, in spite of their notorious villainies. Macreuse, for instance,
as soon as he sees the marquis enter by one door, makes his escape by
another."
The conversation was here interrupted by an incident which would have
been unworthy even of comment in some parts of the town, but rare enough
in the Batignolles.
The arbour in which the little party had dined skirted the garden wall,
and at the farther end of it was a latticed gate, which afforded the
occupants a view of the street beyond. A handsome carriage, drawn by two
superb horses stopped exactly in front of this gate.
This carriage was empty.
The footman on the box beside the driver, and, like him, dressed in rich
livery, descended from his seat, and drawing from his pocket a letter
that evidently bore an address, looked from side to side as if in search
of a number, then disappeared, after motioning the coachman to follow
him.
"This is the first vehicle of that kind I've seen in the Batignolles in
ten years," remarked the old sailor. "It is very flattering to the
neighbourhood."
"I never saw finer horses," said Olivier, with the air of a connoisseur.
"Do they belong to you, Gerald?"
"Do you take me for a millionaire?" responded the young duke, gaily. "I
keep a saddle-horse, and I put one of my mother's horses in my
cabriolet, when she is not using them. That is my stable. This does not
prevent me from loving horses, or from being something of a sporting
man. But, speaking of horses, do you remember that dunce, Mornand,
another of our college mates?"
"And still another of our mutual antipathies,--of course I do. What has
become of him?"
"He is quite a distinguished personage now."
"He! Nonsense!"
"But I tell you he is. He is a member of the Chamber of Peers. He
discourses at length, there. People even listen to him. In short, he is
a minister in embryo."
"De Mornand?"
"Yes, my worthy friend. He is as dull as ever, and twice as arrogant and
self-complacent. He doubts everything except his own merit. He possesses
an insatiable ambition, and he belongs to a coterie of jealous and
spiteful individuals,--spiteful because they are mediocre, or, rather,
mediocre because they are spiteful. Such men rise in the world with,
marvellous rapidity, though Mornand has a broad back and supple
loins,--he will succeed, one aiding the other."
Just then the footman who had disappeared with the carriage returned,
and, seeing through the latticed gate the little party in the arbour,
approached, and, raising his hand to his hat, said:
"Gentlemen, will you be so kind as to tell me if this garden belongs to
No. 7?"
"Yes," replied the commander.
"And to the apartment on the ground floor of that house?"
"Yes."
"I rang that bell three times, but no one answered it."
"I occupy that apartment," said the commander, greatly surprised. "What
do you want?"
"Here is a very important letter for a Madame Barbancon, who, I am told,
lives here."
"Yes, she does live here," replied the veteran, more and more surprised.
Then, seeing the housekeeper at the other end of the garden, he called
out to her:
"Mother Barbancon, the door-bell has rung three times, unanswered, while
you've been trespassing upon my preserves. Come quick! Here is a letter
for you."