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[Illustration: frontispiece (Copyright 1903 by G. Barrie & Sons)]
_DUPONT'S DISCOMFITURE_
_As she spoke, Georgette found a way to let the skirt fall at her feet.
She jumped over it, ran to where her shawl and bonnet were hanging, and
left the room before Dupont, who still held the striped skirt in his
hand, had recovered from his astonishment_.
NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME VI
FRÉDÉRIQUE
VOL. II
THE GIRL WITH THREE PETTICOATS
[Illustration: colophon PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE BARRIE'S
SONS]
THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK
_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons_.
FRÉDÉRIQUE
[CONTINUED]
XXXIII ROSETTE THE BRUNETTE
XXXIV--THE UMBRELLAS.--THE POLKA
XXXV--A HIGH LIVER
XXXVI--A SCENE
XXXVII--ROSETTE'S SEVEN AUNTS
XXXVIII--THE DEALER IN SPONGES
XXXIX--A PARTY OF FOUR
XL--A SICK CHILD
XLI--THE REWARD OF WELLDOING
XLII--A CONSOLATION
XLIII--CONJECTURES
XLIV--LOVE ON ALL SIDES
XLV--SECOND-SIGHT IN WOMEN
XLVI--FONTENAY-SOUS-BOIS
XLVII--THE NEIGHBOR
XLVIII--AT THE OPÉRA
XLIX--A DOUBLE DUEL--
L--A PRESENTATION
THE GIRL WITH THREE PETTICOATS
I--THE DANGER OF SLEEPING TOO MUCH
II--HOW DUPONT AMUSED HIMSELF AT THE BALL--
III--MADEMOISELLE GEORGETTE
IV--YOUNG COLINET
V--AN INGENUOUS YOUTH
VI--A PRIVATE DINING-ROOM
VII--THE SECOND PETTICOAT
VIII--A GENTLEMAN WHO DID NOT RUIN HIMSELF FOR WOMEN
IX--THE LITTLE BLACK SKIRT DOES ITS WORK
X--A BOX OF CANDIED FRUIT
XI--DECLARATION AND OBSTINACY
XII--LOVE! LOVE! WHEN THOU HAST TAKEN US CAPTIVE!
XIII--A BROOCH
XIV--COLINET'S SECOND VISIT
XV--A DAINTY BREAKFAST
XVI--TWELVE THOUSAND FRANCS
XVII--A PARCEL--
XVIII--A BLASÉ YOUNG MAN
XIX--THE VISCOUNT'S FRIENDS
XX--THE THIRD PETTICOAT
XXI--AN ATTACK
XXII--TERTIA SOLVET
XXIII--THE GENTLEMEN WITH THE THREE PETTICOATS
XXIV--THE MOTIVE
XXXIII
ROSETTE THE BRUNETTE
I was conscious of a secret feeling of satisfaction, which I attributed
to my reconciliation with Frédérique. I was pleased to have her for a
friend; there was something unique, something that appealed strongly to
me, in that friendship between a man of thirty and a woman of
twenty-seven; and I promised myself that I would not again so conduct
myself as to break off the connection.
But I had not forgotten Saint-Bergame's words, as he passed our
carriage: "So it's that fellow now! each in his turn!"--It was evident
that he believed me to be Madame Dauberny's lover. I was not surprised
that he should have that idea. People will never believe in the
possibility of an innocent intimacy between a man and woman of our age.
But Frédérique had been deeply wounded by Saint-Bergame's remark;
indeed, by what right did the fellow presume to proclaim that from the
housetops? Was it spite? was it jealousy? Whatever his motive, the man
was an impertinent knave; and if I had not feared to compromise Madame
Dauberny even more, I would have gone to him and demanded an explanation
of his words. But, perhaps an opportunity would present itself; if so, I
would not let it slip.
Several days had passed since my drive in the Bois, when, as I was
strolling along the boulevards one morning, I halted, according to my
custom, in front of one of those pillars upon which posters are
displayed by permission. Being very fond of the theatre, I have always
enjoyed reading the various theatrical announcements. I did not carry it
so far as to read the printer's name; but, had I done so--_that is a
very harmless diversion!_
But observe how harmless diversions may give birth to diversions that
are not harmless. A young woman stopped close beside me, also to read
the announcements; and I was not so absorbed by the titles of dramas and
vaudevilles that the sight of a pretty face did not distract my thoughts
from them.
I think that I have told you that certain faces, certain figures,
possess an indefinable charm and fascination for me at first sight. The
young girl who stood beside me--for she certainly was a young girl--wore
a simple, modest costume, denoting a shopgirl on an errand: dark-colored
dress, shawl,--no, I am mistaken, it was a little alpaca cloak,--and a
small gray bonnet, without any ornament, placed on her head with no
pretence of coquetry; it had evidently been put on in a hurry.
But, beneath that unassuming headgear, I saw a refined, attractive,
piquant face. She was a brunette; her complexion was rather dark, but
her fresh, brilliant coloring gave her a look of the _Midi_. Her brown
hair was brushed smoothly over her temples; her eyes were black, or
blue--or, more accurately, blue bordering on black. They were large, and
said many things. The mouth was very pretty, and well supplied with
teeth. I had thus far only caught a glimpse of the latter, but that was
enough. The nose was straight and well shaped, slightly turned up at
the end, which always gives a saucy look to the face. Add to all this a
lovely figure, neither too tall nor too short; a pretty hand--of that I
was sure, for she wore no gloves; and, lastly, a modest and graceful
carriage; and you will not be surprised that I forgot the names of the
plays and performers printed on the posters before me, and devoted my
whole attention to that young woman.
For her part, she had glanced several times at me, as if
unintentionally. She scrutinized the posters for a long while; and as I
was in no hurry, I too remained in front of the pillar. I had assured
myself at least twelve times that _La Grâce de Dieu_ was to be given at
the Gaîté, and it seemed to me that my neighbor also kept reading the
same thing over and over again.
However, she walked away at last along the boulevard. We were then in
front of the Gymnase. There was nothing to detain me there, for I was
thoroughly posted concerning the programme at the Gaîté. Furthermore,
that grisette took my eye. I believed that I could safely classify her
as a grisette, with liberty to do her justice later, if I had insulted
her. Why should I not try to make her acquaintance? For some time, my
behavior had been virtuous to a degree which accorded neither with my
tastes nor with my habits. Being obliged to eschew sentiment with my
former acquaintances, I was conscious of a void in my heart which I
should be very glad to fill.
I walked after the young woman. One is sometimes sadly at a loss to
begin a conversation in the street; but for some reason or other, I did
not feel the slightest embarrassment with that girl. She walked so
slowly that I easily overtook her. She did not precisely look at me;
but I was fully persuaded that she saw me. Should I begin with the usual
compliments: "You are adorable! With such pretty eyes, you cannot be
cruel!" or other remarks of the same sort? No, they were too stupid and
worn too threadbare; so I addressed her as if we were already
acquainted, and said:
"Do you like the theatre, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, monsieur, very much!"
She answered without the slightest affectation, and with no indication
that she was offended by my question. I took that as a good omen, and
continued:
"Would you like to go to-night?"
"To-night? Oh, dear, no! But I was looking for the Palais-Royal
advertisement; I wanted to know what they were playing there, and I
can't ever find it."
"I am sorry I didn't know that sooner, for I would have shown it to
you."
"After all, it don't make any difference."
"But if you like the theatre, won't you allow me to give you some
tickets?"
"Tickets! Do you have theatre tickets? for what theatre?"
"It doesn't make any difference: I have some for them all. Perhaps you
may think that I am lying, that I say this to trap you, when my only
purpose is to make your acquaintance. But I assure you, mademoiselle,
that I shall be only too happy to be useful to you. Allow me to send you
some tickets; that doesn't bind you to anything."
The girl stopped. We were then near Porte Saint-Denis. She hesitated a
moment, then replied:
"Well! send me some tickets; I'll accept them; but don't send them to my
house; that'll never do, because I live with my aunts. I have a lot of
aunts, and I am not free."
She smiled so comically as she said this, that I saw a double row of
lovely teeth. I ventured to take her hand; that was going ahead rather
fast, but, for some unknown reason, although I had not been talking with
her five minutes, I felt as if I knew her well. She let me hold and
press her hand, which was plump and soft; it did not seem to vex her in
the least.
"Where shall I send the tickets?"
"To my employer's."
"What is your trade?"
"I mend shawls and fringes. I'm a very good hand at it, I promise you!"
"I don't doubt it, mademoiselle."
"Just now I'm doing an errand for my employer; she always sends me on
errands, I don't know why; she says that the dealers aren't so strict
with me! It's a bore sometimes to go out so often; but sometimes it's
good fun, too."
"Will you tell me your name?"
"No."
"Will you come to a restaurant with me and breakfast?"
"No; in the first place, I haven't got time; they're waiting for me, and
I must go back. In the second place, I wouldn't go, anyway, like that,
with someone I don't know."
"That's the way to become acquainted."
"Suppose anyone should see me go into a restaurant with you--one of my
aunts, for instance! I've got seven aunts!"
"Sapristi! that's worse than Abd-el-Kader! No matter! come and have
breakfast with me at my rooms, and you will see at once who I am--that
I am not a mere nobody, a man without means or position."
"Oh! I didn't say you were, monsieur."
"I live on Rue Bleue, No. 14; that isn't very far away. If you will
trust me, I promise you that I won't even kiss the end of your finger."
"Perhaps not, monsieur; but I tell you, I haven't got time; I must go
back; I am late already, and I shall be scolded."
"Very well! where shall I send you a ticket, then?"
"At Madame Ratapond's, No. 48, Rue Meslay; just give it to the
concierge. Mark it: _For Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's_."
"And you are Mademoiselle Rosette?"
"Perhaps. When will you send the ticket?"
"Whenever you choose."
"To-morrow, then."
"To-morrow, very good!"
"How many seats?"
"I will send you a box with four seats."
"Ah! splendid! That will be fun."
"But you will go?"
"To be sure!"
"And I may speak to you?"
"_Dame!_ I don't know about that. If I am with my employer, you must be
careful. But I'll go out in the entr'acte."
"Then I will make an opportunity to say a few words to you. And you
won't come and breakfast with me? An hour passes so quickly!"
"Oh, no! no! Adieu, monsieur! You won't forget--Mademoiselle Rosette, at
Madame Ratapond's, No. 48, Rue Meslay."
"No, mademoiselle, there's no danger of my forgetting."
She walked away, and I did the same. I was enchanted with my new
acquaintance. Mademoiselle Rosette was altogether charming, and in her
eyes, in her answers, I saw at once that she was no fool. Suppose that I
had fallen upon a pearl, a treasure! It was impossible to say. The
things we find without looking for them are often more valuable than
those we take a vast amount of trouble to obtain.
XXXIV
THE UMBRELLAS.--THE POLKA
Love and poetry--these are what make hours seem like minutes. Be an
author, a poet, a novelist, or a lover, and for you time will have
wings. I thought of Mademoiselle Rosette all day, I dreamed of her all
night, and the next morning I set about fulfilling my promise. There is
nothing so easy, in Paris, as to obtain theatre tickets; it is not
necessary to know authors or managers; it is enough to have money. With
money one can have whatever one desires. I was on the way to a ticket
broker's, when I found myself face to face with Dumouton, the literary
man, who was of the dinner party at Deffieux's.
Poor Dumouton had not changed; he was still the same in physique and in
dress. The yellowish-green or faded apple-green coat; the skin-tight
trousers of any color you choose. But I noticed that he had two
umbrellas under his arm, although there were no signs of rain. He
offered me his hand, as if he were overjoyed to meet me, crying:
"Why, Monsieur Rochebrune! bonjour! how are you? It's a long while since
I had the pleasure of meeting you."
"Very well, thanks, Monsieur Dumouton! indeed, I believe we have not met
since Dupréval's dinner."
"True. We had a fine time at that dinner; everybody told some little
anecdote; it was very amusing."
"Are you still writing plays?"
"Still. But one can't find such a market as one would like. There is so
much intriguing at the theatres! The writing of a play isn't the most
difficult part, but the getting it acted. Speaking of theatres, you
don't happen to need an umbrella, do you?"
"No, thanks, I have one. Are you selling umbrellas now?"
"No--but--it happens that I bought one yesterday; and, meanwhile, my
wife had bought one, too. So you see, we have too many; I would be glad
of a chance to get rid of one; I would sell it cheap."
"If I hadn't one already, I might make a trade with you; but as I don't
need it----"
"Still, it's often convenient to have two or three; for you lose one
sometimes, or lend it to somebody who doesn't return it. That has
happened to me a hundred times; and then, when you want to go out, it
rains; you look for your umbrella, and it isn't there. That is very
annoying; so it's more prudent to have two."
"But you apparently don't think so, as you want to sell one of yours."
"Oh! we have five in the house now."
"That makes a difference; but I don't quite understand why you bought
another."
Dumouton scratched his nose; I could not help thinking of Rosette's
seven aunts, and that Dumouton could shelter them from the rain with his
seven umbrellas.
"What do you suppose I would like to have at this moment?" I asked him,
as he sadly shifted his umbrellas from his right arm to his left.
"A cane, perhaps? I have one with a crow's beak head that would please
you."
"No, no! I never carry a cane. What I would like at this moment is a
theatre ticket for this evening."
Dumouton's face fairly beamed.
"For what theatre?" he cried.
"Faith! that makes no difference; but I would like a whole box."
"I have what you want, I have it right in my pocket. See, a box at the
Gymnase!"
"The Gymnase it is!"
Dumouton took from his pocket an old notebook, or wallet, or, to speak
more accurately, two pieces of leather--just what to call it, I do not
know; but it contained a mass of papers, some old and soiled, others
clean and new. He produced from it a pink one, which proved to be a
ticket for a box at the Gymnase. I took the ticket and read at the foot
of it the name of one of our most popular authors.
Dumouton restored his papers to his pocket, put his umbrellas under his
left arm once more, and looked at me with an anxious expression,
murmuring:
"Don't you want it?"
"Yes, indeed! But I was reading the name on it."
"Oh! that's of no consequence; I asked for it for him, but he can't go.
You'll take it, then, will you?"
"Yes, gladly."
"There's only one thing. I have promised a box to some people to whom I
am under obligations, and I can't break my word. It's too late to go to
the theatre to ask for one, so I must buy one of a ticket broker; and I
don't know whether----"
I did not let him finish the sentence.
"I don't propose that you shall be put to any expense on my account. How
much will the ticket cost you?"
"Oh! a hundred sous, I suppose."
"Here's the money; and I am your debtor."
Dumouton pocketed the five francs with a radiant air. But he took his
umbrellas in his hand again and held them out to me.
"I am sorry that you won't take one of these," he said.
I glanced at them, and replied:
"But neither of them is new."
"Oh! that may be; we bought them at second-hand. But they are good ones,
and not dear. I will give you your choice for ten francs."
It was clear to my mind that poor Dumouton was sadly in need of money.
Why should I not gratify him by buying an umbrella? That was simply a
roundabout way of asking a favor. I took one of the umbrellas at random,
and said:
"Well, if it will relieve you,--and I can understand that these two are
a luxury, if you have five at home,--give me this one. Here's the ten
francs."
Dumouton took the money and slipped one of the umbrellas under my arm so
rapidly that I thought that he had run it into me; and fearing perhaps
that I would change my mind and go back on my bargain, he left me on the
instant, saying:
"I am very glad you needed an umbrella. Bonjour, Monsieur Rochebrune!
hope to see you again soon!"
He disappeared, running. I examined the article I had purchased: it was
a very good umbrella, with a laurel-wood stick; the head was a trefoil
with silver trimmings, and the cover dark green silk. After all, I had
not made a bad bargain; but I would have been glad not to have it on my
hands just then, for the weather was fine, and it makes a man look very
foolish to carry an umbrella under such circumstances.
But I had my ticket. I entered a café and called for paper and ink. I
put the ticket in an envelope, with this superscription: _For
Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's_.
I carried the missive myself, for the name Ratapond did not inspire
confidence. Moreover, I was not sorry to ask a few questions and find
out a little more about Mademoiselle Rosette.
I arrived at Rue Meslay, and found the designated number. I passed under
a porte cochère and was walking toward the concierge's lodge, when an
enormous woman, who reminded me of one of the handsome sappers and
miners who change their sex during the Carnival, came toward me from the
farther end of the courtyard.
"Who do you want to see, monsieur?" she demanded.
"Does Madame Ratapond live in this house, madame?"
"Yes, monsieur; fifth floor above the entresol, the door opposite the
stairs."
"I beg your pardon, madame; but what is that lady's business?"
As I asked the question, I felt in my pocket and took out a two-franc
piece, which I slipped into the hand of the colossus, who instantly
assumed a coquettish, mincing air and seemed to diminish in size until
she reached my level.
"Oh! monsieur," she replied, "Madame Ratapond's a very respectable
woman; she sends shawls into the departments and on the railroads."
"Has she many workgirls?"
"Six, and sometimes more."
"Do you know one of them named Mademoiselle Rosette--a pretty brunette,
with a shapely, slender figure?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur. Mamzelle Rosette! To be sure, I know her; she goes
up and down twenty times a day. She often does errands. Does monsieur
happen to have brought her a ticket to the theatre? She told me this
morning she expected one to-day, but she didn't count much on it."
"That is just what I have brought for her."
"Oh! won't she be glad, though! I tell you, monsieur, you can flatter
yourself you've given her a lot of pleasure. She'll dance for joy when I
tell her!"
"She doesn't live in the house, does she?"
"No, monsieur; she comes about eight o'clock or half-past."
"At what time does she go away?"
"Why, when the others do. Usually about eight, unless they're working
late; then it's as late as ten, sometimes."
"Here is the letter, madame, with the ticket; will you be kind enough to
hand it to mademoiselle in person?"
"Yes, monsieur, I understand. You see, I'm sure it won't be long before
she comes in or goes out, and she always speaks to me when she passes."
"I rely upon you, then, madame."
The colossus cut several capers by way of courtesies; I left her
standing on one leg, and went my way. I had found that the girl had not
deceived me in what she told me; that was something. I did not suppose
that I was dealing with a Jeanne d'Arc, but I did not care to fall into
the other extreme. I determined to go to the Gymnase, and to have a
little note in my pocket, appointing a meeting, which I would slip into
Mademoiselle Rosette's hand if I was unable to talk freely with her.
I was on my way home, when I heard my name called. I turned and
recognized Monsieur Rouffignard, the stout, chubby-faced party, who also
was one of the dinner party at Deffieux's.
"Parbleu!" I said, as we shook hands; "this is my day for meetings!"
"Bonjour, Monsieur Rochebrune! have you seen our friend Dupréval
lately?"
"Not for a long while! I have not done right; but I have been told that
since Dupréval was married he has entirely renounced pleasure and gives
all his attention to business; so that I have been afraid of disturbing
him."
"It is true, he has become a regular bear; he thinks of nothing but
making money. For my part, I make it, but I spend it too!"
"And I spend it, and don't make any. Such is life: everyone follows his
tastes, or the current that carries him along; if we all did the same
thing, it would be too monotonous."
"I have just met a man who was at our dinner party at Deffieux's, and
who can't be very well content with his lot at present; I don't know
whether that will make him less rigid in the matter of morals."
"Whom do you mean?"
"Monsieur Faisandé, the clerk in the Treasury Department, who was
shocked when he heard anything a little off color."
"What has happened to him?"
"He has lost his place, that's all."
"Dismissed?"
"Yes, and he certainly hasn't embezzled. I heard all about it from a man
who is a clerk in the same bureau. Would you believe, Monsieur
Rochebrune, that that individual, who was so virtuous, so pure in his
language, sometimes passed a fortnight without showing his face at his
desk? If it had been on account of sickness, no one would have said a
word; but, no, the man wasn't even at home; he didn't show himself there
any more than he did at the bureau; not even at night; and his wife and
child expecting him all the time! He passed a fortnight away from home!"
"What a cur!"
"You are right: _cur_ is the word. They began, at the bureau, by warning
him that, if he were not more regular, his conduct would be reported. He
paid no attention. They cut down his salary; and he kept on in the same
way. At last, they gave him his walking ticket. And now he's thrown on
his wife's hands, and she has to work day and night to support her
family! Poor woman! may heaven soon rid her of the fellow!"
"Cur and hypocrite often go together. I have never had the slightest
confidence in people who prate about their own virtue, honesty, or
merit."
While I was speaking, Monsieur Rouffignard happened to glance at my
umbrella, which he at once began to scrutinize closely.
"You are surprised to see me with an umbrella in my hand, in such
beautiful weather as this, aren't you?"
"Oh! I am not surprised at that, but---- Will you allow me to touch it?"
"Certainly."
I handed the umbrella to my stout friend, who examined the handle,
opened and closed it, and exclaimed:
"Parbleu! I am sure now that I'm not mistaken."
"Do you happen to recognize my umbrella?"
"Your umbrella? You say it's yours?"
"Why, to be sure! I bought it not two hours ago, and that is why I am
carrying it now."
"In that case, I should be very glad to know where you bought it."
"You know Dumouton--the literary man?"
"Dumouton! Indeed I know him; he borrows five francs of me every time he
sees me. But go on!"
"Well! I met him this morning. He had two umbrellas under his arm, and
he urged me so hard to buy one of them that I finally bought this one."
"Ah! the villain! Upon my word, this is too cool! He actually sold you
my umbrella, which he borrowed the day before yesterday and was to
return that evening, and which I am still waiting for! Oh! this is the
one--a trefoil with silver trimmings. It's my umbrella! Well! Monsieur
Rochebrune, what do you say to that performance?"
Poor Dumouton! I was sorry that I had been the means of showing him up;
but how could I suspect that he had sold me Rouffignard's umbrella? It
was very wrong; but, perhaps, he needed the money to pay his baker. I
felt that I must try to arrange the matter.
"You agree with me!" cried the stout man; "you call this a shameful
trick, don't you?"
"No, Monsieur Rouffignard. I think that there is some misunderstanding
simply, some mistake; that Dumouton is not guilty----"
"Not guilty! and he sold you my umbrella?"
"Allow me. When I met Dumouton this morning, he had two umbrellas under
his arm. He offered to sell me one. 'And what about the other?' I asked
him.--'The other isn't mine,' he said; 'it was lent to me, and I am
going at once to return it.'--He certainly was speaking of yours, then.
I made a bargain with him for his umbrella. But we talked some little
time, and, when he left me, he must have made a mistake and given me the
wrong one; that's the whole of it."
"Do you think so?"
"I am so sure of it that I will give you your umbrella, and go to
Dumouton's to get the other."
"Infinitely obliged, Monsieur Rochebrune. But, as Dumouton proposed to
bring mine back, I may find the other one at my house; in that case, I
will send it to you at once."
"Do so, pray; au revoir, Monsieur Rouffignard!"
"Your servant, Monsieur Rochebrune!"
The stout man went off with his umbrella; I was quite sure that he would
find none to send to me. Unfortunate Dumouton! See whither _petits
verres_ lead, and idling in cafés, and risky collaborations!
My thoughts recurred to the ticket for the box at the Gymnase. Suppose
that should be claimed at the door, like the umbrella! Suppose my ladies
should be denied admission, humiliated! That would prove to have been a
precious gift of mine! And the name that was written on it! Suppose that
that should mislead Mademoiselle Rosette! Faith! that would be amusing.
In case of an emergency, as I had given the damsel my address, and had
forgotten to tell her my name, I determined to instruct my concierge as
to what he must say if anyone should call and ask for the person whose
name was on the ticket.
I waited impatiently for the hour at which the play would begin. I was
convinced that they would be admitted on the ticket I had sent. Dumouton
had undoubtedly asked for the box under some other name than his own,
with the intention of selling it; that was very pleasant for the person
whose name was written out in full on the ticket!
I could not afford to appear at the very beginning of the play; I should
look like an opéra-comique lover. I waited until eight o'clock, before I
went to the Gymnase. I had been careful to observe the number of the
box, which was the best in the second tier. The play had begun; I walked
along the corridor, found the number in question, and satisfied myself
by a glance through the glass door that the box was full. That was
satisfactory; she had come. My next move was to take up a position on
the opposite side; at a distance, it would be easy for me to keep my
eyes on the box without attracting attention.
I entered the opposite balcony, where nothing would intercept my view of
the person on whose account I had come.
But to no purpose did I fix my opera glass on the box in question; to no
purpose did I rub it with my handkerchief so that I could see more
distinctly: among all the faces that filled the box I had given my
pretty grisette, there was not one that resembled or even suggested
hers. I looked again and again. It was impossible; I thought that my
eyes deceived me. There were four women in the box, and I examined them
one after another. It did not take long. In front, there was a rather
attractive person of thirty or thereabouts; but she did not in the least
resemble Mademoiselle Rosette: as for the other three, they were all
between fifty and seventy, and vied with one another in ugliness.
What had they done with my pretty Rosette? where was she? I wanted her,
I must have her! Deuce take it! It was not for that quartette of women
that I had bought the box of Monsieur Dumouton, who had seized the
opportunity to entangle me in the folds of an umbrella! Who were those
people I was examining? Madame Ratapond? some of my inamorata's aunts? I
had no idea, but I was horribly annoyed. So she had not come! although
the ticket was meant for her; although she knew that I would go there
solely in the hope of seeing her and speaking to her! So she did not
choose to make my acquaintance, but simply to make sport of me!
I left the balcony and returned to the corridor; I asked the box opener
if the ladies in such a number had said that they expected anyone.
"No, monsieur; they didn't say anything about it. Anyway, the box is
full; there's four of 'em."
"I know that. By the way, please show me their ticket."
The box opener showed me the coupon: it was the one I had sent. I was
completely _done!_ I returned, in an execrable humor, to the balcony,
but this time nearer the box. From time to time, I glanced at that
assemblage of the fair sex, every member of which, with one exception,
was exceedingly ugly. But it seemed to me that they had noticed me.
Perhaps they fancied that they had made a conquest of me. In any event,
there was but one of them who could reasonably imagine that. Soon I
began to think that they whispered and laughed together as they looked
at me. Perhaps it was my imagination. But, no matter! I had had enough.
She for whom I had come was not there; why should I remain?
I left the theatre. I was weak enough to pace back and forth on the
boulevard, in front of the door, hoping that she might come. But the
clock struck ten. I decided to go away. I went into a café and read the
papers, and about half-past eleven I went home, depressed and
shame-faced. Really, that girl was most seductive, and I had fancied
that there would be no obstacle to our liaison.
My concierge stopped me.
"A young woman has been here asking for you, monsieur. That is to say,
she didn't ask for you, but for that queer name monsieur told me."
My heart expanded; I became as cheerful as I was melancholy a moment
before.
"Ah! so the young woman came, did she? A tall, dark girl, with a
wide-awake look?"
"Yes, monsieur; that describes her."
"What time did she come?"
"About half-past eight."
"And she asked if Monsieur--the author whose name I gave you--lived
here?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And you answered?"
"I answered _yes_, as you told me to. I told her that you lived on the
second floor, but that you had gone out."
"And then?"
"Then she said she'd come about noon to-morrow, and told me to tell
you."
"She will come to-morrow?"
"Yes, monsieur, about noon."
"Very good! very good!"
I was beside myself with joy. I rewarded my concierge, then ran lightly
up my two flights. Pomponne opened the door. I went in singing, and said
to him:
"To-morrow, Pomponne, about noon, a young grisette will come here."
"Ah! a grisette--a new one?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean one who has not called on monsieur before."
"Why, yes, of course, you idiot! She will ask for----"
"_Pardi!_ she will ask for monsieur."
"Well, no; that is just what she won't do."
"Will she ask for me, then? But I don't expect anybody, monsieur!"
"Oh! how you annoy me with your reflections, Pomponne! She will ask
for---- But, no, you would make some infernal blunder; I prefer not to
have you here. I will send you on some errand, and let her in myself
when she comes."
"What, monsieur! do you distrust me to that extent?"
"Hush! you bore me."
"But if you want her to ask for me, monsieur, I'm willing, I don't
refuse."
"Leave me in peace, and go to bed!"
Pomponne went to bed, weeping because I would not allow him to be there
on the morrow to admit my young grisette. I fell asleep thinking of
Mademoiselle Rosette. Her visit indicated a very earnest wish to make my
acquaintance; or was it not due to her having read that name on the
ticket? Was it not because she believed me to be a famous author that
she had come to my lodgings? All women love renown; grisettes are as
susceptible to it as other women. And in that case, when she
learned----
"Faith!" said I to myself; "we shall see to-morrow; let's go to sleep."
At noon, I was becomingly dressed; I had sent Pomponne away, with orders
not to return before two o'clock, and I impatiently counted the minutes.
I did not count long. The bell rang; I opened the door instantly: it was
my grisette, in the same costume as on the day of our first meeting, and
with a no less affable expression. She entered without ceremony. I
ushered her into my little salon, and invited her to sit on the divan,
saying:
"How good of you to come!"
"I came last evening."
"I know it. But why weren't you at the theatre? I was so anxious to meet
you there! In fact, it was for you that I sent the box, and not for
those others."
"Yes, but I couldn't go; there was work that had to be done, and at such
times there's no fun to be had. You saw my employer, Madame Ratapond,
and a specimen of my aunts."
"Ah! so those were your aunts; the elderly ladies, I presume?"
"Yes. And my mistress, what did you think of her?"
"She is very good-looking. But it was you that I wanted to see! You are
so pretty, and I love you so dearly!"
At this point, I tried to add action to speech; but Mademoiselle Rosette
pushed me away and arose, saying:
"In the first place, I want you to let me alone. Stop! stop! you think
you can go on like that, right away---- Oh, no! Later, I won't say! We'll
see!"
Good! At all events, she gave me ground for hope. I liked her frankness
exceedingly.
"In the second place, I must go; yes, I'm in a great hurry. I came here
on my way to do an errand; but it wasn't far that I had to go, and my
mistress will say: 'There's that Rosette idling again!'"
"Ah! so it seems that you do that sometimes?"
"Yes, sometimes; I don't deny it. I like to stroll along and look in the
shop windows."
"Sit down a moment."
She did so, and said, after looking about the room:
"Monsieur--is it really true that it's you?"
"That it's I?--why---- What do you mean?"
"Why, you know, yesterday, when I saw your name on the ticket, I shouted
for joy, and I said: 'What! that gentleman who spoke to me is the one
who writes the plays I like so much and go to see so often!'--Oh! I tell
you, I was pleased then, and that's why I came right here last night: I
remembered your address, and I asked if it was really you that lived in
this house; and the concierge said _yes_, and I told him I'd come again
to-morrow, at noon. Well! does that make you angry? you don't say
anything."
"No; it doesn't make me angry. But I was thinking."
"I say, monsieur, do you know I'm mad over your plays? If I should go
mad over you too----"
"There's no danger of that."
"What's that? there's no danger? What makes you say: 'There's no
danger'? Perhaps you don't know that I take fire very quickly, I do!"
That young woman was decidedly original. She said whatever came into her
head, without beating about the bush. I liked that frankness, in which
there was something like artlessness. Mademoiselle Rosette was neither
stupid, nor pretentious, nor prudish. She was a perfect little
phoenix, was that grisette. I began by kissing her; she defended
herself feebly, or, rather, she allowed herself to be kissed without too
much fuss; but when I attempted to go further, she defended herself very
stoutly, crying:
"I said: 'Not to-day!'--So, no nonsense; it's a waste of time!"
"Well, when, then?"
"Oh! we'll see; we've got time enough. Do you like me?"
"What a question! Many other men must like you, for you know well enough
that you're as pretty as a peach."
"Oh, yes! I know that; people tell me so every day."
"Lovers?"
"Lovers and flatterers and chance acquaintances--what do I know? I can't
go out without being followed, and it's sickening!"
"Come, Mademoiselle Rosette, tell me frankly: have you had
many--lovers?"
"Lovers! I should think not! No, I've never had but one."
"That's very modest! And you loved him dearly, I suppose?"
"Why, yes."
"Why did you separate?"
She looked down at the floor, heaved a profound sigh, and murmured:
"Alas! he died, my poor Léon!"
"Oh! forgive me for reminding you of so sad a loss."
"Yes; he died--a little more than a year ago."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty. They've wanted to marry me off seventeen times already; but I
won't have it; I haven't any taste for marriage. I am right, ain't I?"
"If you have no inclination for marriage, you will certainly do quite as
well to remain free."
"Free, that's it! What fun it is to do just what one wants to do! In the
first place, I should make a husband very unhappy! And in the second
place, how can I marry, now? I don't choose to deceive anyone, and I
certainly wouldn't hold myself out for something that I'm not any more."
"You are right, mademoiselle; you shouldn't have any secrets from the
man you bind yourself to; but all young ladies aren't like you."
"They're wrong, then. I must go now; I shall get a scolding."
"Just another minute. Tell me; if you hadn't seen that name on the
theatre ticket, wouldn't you have come to see me?"
"Oh, no!"
"Then it was on account of the name alone that you came, not on my
account?"
"But it was on your account, as the name's yours."
"But suppose it were not mine? suppose it were a mere accident that that
name was on the ticket?"
The girl gazed earnestly at me, then exclaimed impatiently:
"Come, go on! what do you mean? I don't like to have anyone hold my nose
under water."
"I mean, mademoiselle, that, like yourself, I do not choose to deceive
anyone, or to hold myself out for what I am not. The author of whose
works you are so fond--I am not he. My name is Charles Rochebrune; and
I haven't the least little bit of renown to serve as a halo to my name.
If my concierge lied to you yesterday, it was because I thought that you
would not come here for poor me; and, as I ardently desired to see you
again, I ventured upon that little fraud, to obtain the pleasure of
receiving you here. But I never intended to carry it any further.--That
is what I wanted to tell you."
Mademoiselle Rosette was silent for a few moments; I heard her mutter in
a disappointed tone: "It's a pity!" But the next minute she smiled and
held out her hand, saying:
"I don't care--it was good of you to tell me the truth!"
"Then you are no longer angry with me?"
"What good would that do?"
"And you will love me a little?"
"We shall see. Ah! a piano! Who plays the piano? I love music!"
I sat down at the piano, and played quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas.
When I reached the last-named dance, she began to polk about the salon
with fascinating grace.
"Do you like the polka?"
"I adore it! Do you polk?"
"A little."
"Let's try it."
She took my arm, and in a moment we were polking all over the salon to a
tune which I was obliged to sing while we danced. It was very fatiguing;
but Mademoiselle Rosette did not weary; she was an intrepid dancer. We
were making our fifteenth circuit, at least, when the door was suddenly
thrown open and Frédérique appeared. She stood, speechless with
amazement, in the doorway; she had not eyes enough to look at us. I
attempted to stop and go to her; but Mademoiselle Rosette dragged me on
and compelled me to continue:
"Come on, come on!" she cried. "Do you think of stopping now? My word!
Why, I can polk two hours without stopping!"
XXXV
A HIGH LIVER
Mademoiselle Rosette danced on with undiminished ardor, but I felt that
mine was rapidly giving out; my voice was dying away, and there were
moments when I did not make a sound. After watching us for some time,
Frédérique took her place at the piano and began to play a polka for us.
Then there was no longer any reason why we should stop; I did not need
to sing, it is true, but I did need the leg of a Hercules to keep pace
with my partner, who exclaimed when she heard the music:
"Oh! that's fine! How much better we go with the piano!--Not quite so
fast, madame, please! The polka isn't like the waltz."
But I could do no more; I stopped and threw myself into a chair.
Mademoiselle Rosette thereupon concluded to sit down; and as she took
out her handkerchief to wipe her face, she dropped a thimble, two skeins
of cotton, a piece of cake, two sous, a spool of thread, a card, a lump
of sugar, a skein of silk, and three plums.
She got down on all fours to pick them up, then glanced at the clock and
cried:
"Mon Dieu! half-past one! To think that I've been here an hour and a
half, and I didn't mean to stay five minutes! Oh! what a trouncing I
shall get! luckily, I don't care a hang! Adieu, Monsieur
What's-your-name! I'm going."
She had already left the salon; I hurried after her and overtook her in
the reception room, and, seizing her around the waist, said:
"When shall I see you again?"
"_Dame!_ I don't know; whenever you say."
"Will you dine with me to-morrow?"
"Dine with you? Yes, I'd like to."
"Will you be on Passage Vendôme at five o'clock?"
"No, no! not on Passage Vendôme; that's too near my employer's; someone
might see me. Better go where we met first, on Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle,
in front of the Gymnase."
"Very good; at five o'clock?"
"That's too early; half-past five."
"Half-past five it is. Until to-morrow, then!"
"Yes; adieu!"
I kissed her, and she ran down the stairs four at a time. I returned to
the salon. Frédérique's face wore a singular expression. She pretended
to laugh, but her merriment seemed forced to me.
"Will you forgive me for leaving you alone a moment while I said a word
to that young woman?" I said, as I sat down beside her.
"Why, of course! Do friends stand on ceremony with one another?"
"You see, I have taken advantage of the permission you gave me."
"You have done well.--Ha! ha! ha!"
"Why do you laugh?"
"Because you looked so comical, polking with that grisette just now. I
had so little expectation of finding a ball in progress here!--Ha! ha!
ha! I was speechless."
"By the way, how did you come in?"
"Through the door, naturally; I rang, and your servant admitted me. But
you were so hard at work with your dancing that you didn't hear
me--apparently.--Ha! ha! ha!"
"Oho! my servant admitted you, did he? I sent him on an errand and
forbade him to return before two o'clock. The rascal! he couldn't
restrain his curiosity, and he came back before the time."
"I disturbed you--I am very sorry. But it seemed to me that you had had
enough; you were on your last legs. _Fichtre!_ what a dancer that damsel
is! You and I dance very well together--they took us for artists from
the Opéra, you know; but if you had polked with your friend at Monsieur
Bocal's ball, they would have carried you both in triumph, like
_Musard_.--Ha! ha! ha!"
"You are in a satirical mood, Frédérique."
"Satirical with you? Bless my soul! it seems to me that that would be
very unbecoming of me. You amuse yourself, you enjoy life, you know how
to make the most of your best days--and you are quite right! I may envy
your happiness, but certainly not laugh at it, I who can no longer do
anything but bore myself and other people too."
She said these last words in a most melancholy tone, and her eyes were
wet with tears.
"What's that you say about boring other people, Frédérique?" I said,
taking her hand. "You didn't make that wicked remark for my benefit, I
trust; if you did, it is absolutely false."
She hastily withdrew her hand.
"No, no!" she cried; "I don't know what I am saying, or what I am
thinking about! Come, let us talk, my dear friend; who is this girl that
I found with you?"
"She--why, she's a grisette; and a very pretty one, too, is she not?"
"Yes, that may be. She lisps when she talks."
"Oh! really now! Once in a while, there's something that makes her voice
tremble, it is true, but it isn't at all disagreeable; quite the
contrary."
"That's a matter of taste. Some men like women who lisp, just as some
like red hair. I have known some who even went so far as to adore women
with a limp."
"Oh! how caustic you are to-day, Frédérique!"
"And this beauty, with the quivering voice--how long have you known
her?"
"Since day before yesterday."
"Peste! she's quite new! And the acquaintance is already--complete; you
have nothing else to wish for?"
"Oh! I beg your pardon. We don't go so fast."
"But I should say that you go at quite a good pace. If the young lady
should prove cruel, I should be much surprised."
"I trust that she won't be to-morrow."
"Ah! you are to see her again to-morrow?"
"Yes, we dine together; we have made the appointment, it's all
arranged."
Frédérique abruptly sprang to her feet and walked to the window. She
remained there some time. When she came back to me, I was surprised at
her pallor.
"Do you feel ill?" I asked, hastening to meet her.
"No; I--I--was looking at the weather. Well! so you really have ceased
entirely to think of Armantine?"
"What has induced you to mention that lady to me? What idea have you in
your head?"
"A perfectly natural one. I am still surprised to find that you have
forgotten her. Do you know that she has left Passy?"
"How should I know that? Do you suppose that I have been to Passy?"
"Oh, no! that is true. Well, Armantine has left the neighborhood of the
Bois. She hasn't told me where she has gone; apparently, she isn't
anxious to see me again. That's as she pleases: one should never force
one's self upon anybody. But I see that you are not listening to me! I
forgive you: you are so engrossed by your new conquest and your blissful
meeting to-morrow!--But I am forgetting that I have some business to
attend to."
As she spoke, she put on her bonnet, which she had tossed on a table
when she took her seat at the piano.
"What! you are going to leave me already?"
"Yes--I, too--somebody's waiting for me--I too have an appointment. Did
you think that that was impossible?"
"In what a tone you say that! I thought simply that, in that case, you
would have taken me into your confidence."
"Perhaps so. I can't tell all my sentiments so easily as you can."
"Then you have less confidence in me than I have in you."
"That is possible."
"But that is very unkind!"
"Tell me, how long will this new love of yours last?"
"My relations with Mademoiselle Rosette?--for you mustn't call it love."
"What is it, then?"
"It is a little liaison of no consequence--for amusement."
"Give it whatever name you choose. Well, how long will this little
liaison of no consequence, for amusement, be likely to last?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I want to know."
"It's rather hard for me to answer. How is it possible to say? You see,
I know nothing of the girl's temperament. Such liaisons sometimes end in
a week; sometimes they last three months."
"All right. Then I will come again three months hence."
"What does this mean? Why do you leave me so?"
"Because it seems to me that I always arrive most inopportunely and
disturb you in the midst of your pleasures; and I shall do well not to
intrude again, so long as you are--infatuated with this grisette."
"Really, Frédérique, I can't understand you! What connection can there
possibly be between my follies, my amourettes, my momentary pleasures,
and our delightful friendship?"
"Oh! you are quite right! Of course, there is not the slightest
connection between me and your pleasures. Ah, me! I certainly do not
know what I am saying to-day; my wits are all topsy-turvy. But, adieu! I
repeat, I have an appointment; I must leave you. Adieu!"
"But I shall see you again soon?"
"Yes, soon."
She left the room. There were days when I was utterly at a loss to
understand that woman's changing moods.
"Ah! here's Monsieur Pomponne! Just come this way, O faithful and, above
all, obedient servitor!"
Pomponne hung his head and stood in front of me, like a Cossack awaiting
the knout.
"What did I tell you when I sent you out this morning?"
"You told me, monsieur, that it would take me till two o'clock at least.
But I hurried and got back earlier. Monsieur tells me sometimes that I
am slow, and I wanted to prove that I could be quick."
"You have proved that you are a prying rascal--that's what you have
proved! Another time, if you don't carry out my orders to the letter, I
will discharge you."
"You didn't give me any letter, monsieur."
"Enough; off with you, or I may give you something else!"
The next day, at half-past five, I was at the place Mademoiselle Rosette
had appointed; in a few moments, I saw my new conquest approaching; she
did not keep me waiting, that was another excellent quality.
For this occasion Mademoiselle Rosette had made a toilet; she wore a
green merino dress, a pretty shawl, a black velvet bonnet, with a tulle
veil. It was all very becoming to her; moreover, her costume was
suitable, without being pretentious; that fact denoted good taste.
I offered her my arm, and she smilingly accepted it. We walked toward
the cab stand. I put her into a little _citadine_, and as we drove away
I began the conversation with a kiss; that leads at once to intimacy. My
companion accepted the situation with the best grace imaginable. We were
very good friends in short order.
"Where are you taking me?" inquired Rosette.
"To a restaurant."
"Is it very far?"
"Near the Jardin des Plantes, opposite the Orléans station--the
Arc-en-Ciel. It seems to me that if we get away from the crowd, we shall
be more at liberty, more at home. You're in no hurry, are you?"
"Oh, no! that is to say, provided I'm at home at eleven o'clock."