broke the seal, and walked to the window to read it, regardless of her
visitors. Thereupon Dupont turned to the new-comer and asked:
"Have you been in Paris before?"
"No, monsieur; this is the first time."
"Do you mean to settle here?"
"Oh! no, monsieur. In fact, I promised mother not to stay more than four
days. I'm going home Saturday."
This reply caused Dupont most intense satisfaction, for he had begun to
fear that he should find the young man at his compatriot's every day. He
continued, with a more amiable air:
"Are you in business?"
"I raise sheep, and my father calves."
"That's a very fine trade! Our first parents raised cattle, more or
less; we content ourselves nowadays with eating them, and that is all
the more reprehensible because it's not the way to multiply the races."
Mademoiselle Georgette finished reading her letter, which seemed to have
interested her deeply; as she folded it, she uttered an "at last!" which
seemed to say many things.
Dupont, content to know that young Colinet was to remain only a short
time in Paris, took his hat and said to his neighbor:
"I leave you with your old friend. You must have many things to say to
each other."
"I will not keep you," Georgette replied, with a smile.
"She won't keep me! parbleu! I can see that for myself!" said Dupont, as
he took his leave. "She never does keep me! Oh! this is too long a job!
I am drying up! That young Colinet kissed her more than ten times! It's
high time that my turn should come!"
V
AN INGENUOUS YOUTH
The next afternoon, when Dupont called upon his neighbor, he found
Colinet there, apparently no less shy and embarrassed than before,
sitting in front of Georgette and watching her work, without a word; but
with the air of being perfectly happy simply to look at her.
"Well, Monsieur Colinet," said Dupont, "have you been enjoying yourself?
have you got a little acquainted with Paris?"
"I've been to see the animals in the Jardin des Plantes, monsieur; but I
like my sheep better than the lions and tigers. I wonder why they give
them such fine cages, when my sheep often don't have any house even."
"Tigers are kept in cages, Monsieur Colinet, because they are vicious
and people are afraid of 'em. As for your sheep, as they never injure
anybody, nobody worries about them, and they're allowed to feed where
they will. That's worth something in itself."
"My sheep don't always find enough to eat in the fields; but I saw them
give great big chunks of meat to your ugly tigers."
"For the very same reason! They're afraid of 'em, so they must keep 'em
well fed."
"You must go to the play while you're in Paris, Colinet."
"With you, Mamzelle Georgette?"
"Yes. Monsieur Dupont here will take us both."
"The devil! it seems that I must amuse Monsieur Colinet too," thought
Dupont. "But, after all, I prefer that to having her go alone with him."
"Will you take us to the theatre to-night?" Georgette asked Dupont.
"Why, certainly, mademoiselle, with the greatest pleasure! Am I not
always at your service, and too happy if I can do anything to please
you?"
"Yes, monsieur; I know that you are extremely obliging; but I should
dislike to abuse your good nature."
"You cannot put it to the test too often. You know my sentiments for
you, for I make no mystery of them; I am your loyal knight!"
Young Colinet stared first at Dupont, then at Georgette, as if he were
trying to fathom their meaning. The pretty embroiderer laughed heartily,
as she said:
"Then we'll go to the Cirque-National. They give fairy plays there, with
transformation scenes;--you'll like that, Colinet."
"I'll go wherever you say, Mamzelle Georgette."
"It's strange," thought Dupont, "that she addresses this young man
_thou_, while he uses _you_. After all, that's better than if it was the
other way."
That evening, he escorted Mademoiselle Georgette and young Colinet to
the theatre of the Circus on Boulevard du Temple. I do not need to tell
you that the numerous theatres that imparted so much animation to that
boulevard were not then demolished. The play was a fairy extravaganza, a
mixture of dancing and marvellous exploits, with frequent changes of
scenery. The rather scant costumes of the female dancers made Colinet
lower his eyes; sometimes he even turned his head away just when most
of the spectators had their opera glasses fastened on the forms of those
ladies.
"Well, well! what are you thinking about?" Dupont would exclaim, nudging
the young man; "you look away at the most delicious moment!"
"I'm afraid of offending those ladies, if I look at them when they lift
their legs in our direction," Colinet would reply, with a blush.
"Poor fellow! he certainly isn't dangerous!" was Dupont's conclusion.
"Still, my pretty embroiderer pays no attention to anyone else. When I
speak to her, she hardly answers me, she doesn't seem to listen. I long
for the time when her childhood's friend will return to his sheep."
Dupont's wishes were soon gratified. On the Saturday Colinet said
farewell to Georgette, who gave him two letters for her sisters and
kisses for her parents. The young man took charge of them all, and went
away sadly enough.
"Why don't you come back with me?" he asked Georgette. "I should be so
happy to take you back to the province! Do you enjoy yourself so very
much in Paris, mamzelle?"
"It isn't that I enjoy myself so much, Colinet; but I must stay here--I
must!"
"And will you have to stay long?"
"I don't know; we will hope not. But I promise you, Colinet, that the
day that takes me back to my parents will be the happiest day in my
life."
"And in mine too, mamzelle."
"Really, Colinet? then you have much--friendship for me?"
"I don't know what I have; but I would like never to leave you again."
"We shall meet again, Colinet; don't forget me. I promise not to forget
you."
"Ah! Mamzelle Georgette, that promise makes me very happy!"
And to prove his joy the poor boy burst into tears; then he kissed
Georgette and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him, because he
felt that if he delayed any longer he would not have the courage to go
at all.
Dupont called on his neighbor in the afternoon; he found her sad and
thoughtful.
"I opine that the young shepherd has gone," he said.
"Yes, monsieur. He is very lucky: he is going to see my father and
mother!"
"No doubt. But it must be very monotonous to look at sheep all the time.
You see, charming Georgette, there's nothing like Paris! It is the home
of all pleasures; it is the place to which all the great talents, all
the people of renown, come to be applauded! In a word, one really lives
in Paris; elsewhere, one only vegetates!"
"If that were true, monsieur, it would be most unfortunate for a great
many people, for Paris isn't big enough to hold the whole world. But I
think myself that one can be very happy elsewhere, when one is with
those whom one loves and is able to confine one's desires within
reasonable limits."
"That is true, charming Georgette; you talk like Virgil, or Delille. It
was the latter, I believe, who said:
"'Les vrais plaisirs aux champs ont fixé leur séjour;
On y craint plus les dieux, on y fait mieux l'amour!'[C]
But as for making love, with all deference to Delille, that can be done
very well in Paris; indeed, the art is carried to perfection here; and
if you would only be less cruel to me---- But you are distraught! You
don't seem to be listening!"
"What did you say, monsieur?"
"There! I was sure of it; you weren't listening to me! But I forgive
you; the departure of your childhood's friend has saddened you. Come,
you absolutely must have some diversion! To-morrow will be Sunday, and
we must enjoy the day. Will you dine with me?"
"With pleasure."
"I will call for you at five o'clock; be ready then. We will dine at
Bonvalet's, on the boulevard."
"Wherever you choose; it's all the same to me."
"Well, then, at Bonvalet's; they treat one very well there. Then we will
go to one of the theatres opposite. It's all settled; and until then I
leave you with your memories. Au revoir, dear neighbor, until
to-morrow!"
Dupont took his leave, rubbing his hands and saying to himself:
"To-morrow will see my triumph! Between now and then, I will go to
Bonvalet's, I will speak to one of the waiters, I will suborn him in my
interest, and I will engage a private dining-room in advance, even
though I have to pay its weight in gold!"
VI
A PRIVATE DINING-ROOM
The next day, punctually at five o'clock, Dupont appeared. He found
Georgette dressed in her best clothes, but still pensive and careworn.
"Decidedly, you regret your childhood's friend too much," said Dupont,
with a smile. "You were always so light-hearted, singing all the time--I
should hardly recognize you now!"
"It isn't Colinet's going away that makes me thoughtful."
"Oho! it isn't that? Then there's something else, is there?"
"Perhaps so."
"Something which you will confide to me?"
"I think not."
"In that case, let us go to dinner."
They went to the restaurant on Boulevard du Temple. As they were about
to ascend the flight of stairs leading to the first floor, three
gentlemen who seemed to have dined very well came down. One of them,
finding himself face to face with Dupont, uttered an exclamation of
surprise as he looked at him, and slapped him on the back.
"Well, upon my word!" he cried; "this is an unexpected meeting! It's
Dupont, dear old Dupont! What does this mean? You are in Paris, and
haven't been to see me?"
Dupont turned scarlet, he hung his head, and stammered:
"Ah! is it you, Jolibois? Bonjour! How are you? Adieu!"
And he tried to pass with Georgette, who had his arm.
But Monsieur Jolibois caught him by the sleeve, and continued:
"Well! do you hurry away like this when you meet a friend? When did you
leave Brives-la-Gaillarde? Is your wife with you? Don't run away, I say;
I'm very glad to see you. Poor Dupont! Do you still sleep like a marmot?
For that's all you did when I was at Brives-la-Gaillarde, and your wife
complained of it. Ha! ha! she complained bitterly, did your dear
spouse!"
Dupont was on the rack; if he had dared, he would have struck his friend
Jolibois, to make him relax his hold, at the risk of knocking him
downstairs. He tried to release his arm, muttering:
"You have been dining, Jolibois, and dining very well, I should judge.
But madame and I have not dined, and we would like to join our friends,
who are waiting for us upstairs. I'll call on you; but let me go now,
Jolibois; I promise you that I'll call to see you.--Come, my dear
madame, they are waiting for us."
With another jerk, Dupont succeeded in shaking off his persecutor. He
hurried Georgette upstairs, leaving his friend Jolibois, who looked
after them, crying:
"Ah! you rascal! you think you can fool me! But I can guess--I see
what's up! You're a rascal, Dupont! But don't be afraid: I won't tell
your wife."
Georgette did not say a word; she took pity on her escort's pitiable
state. They reached the landing on the first floor. Dupont recognized
his waiter and said to him:
"Waiter, we would like a table in one of the public rooms."
"There isn't one, monsieur; they're all taken. It's very hard to get one
on Sunday, unless you come much earlier than this. But I happen to have
a private room, just vacated; I will give you that."
Dupont glanced at Georgette, who replied:
"We wish to dine in a public room. Let us take a turn on the boulevard;
we will come back in a little while, and probably we shall find a table
then."
"As you please, my dear friend," replied Dupont, who dared not insist,
because the meeting with his friend Jolibois had made him very sheepish;
but as they went away he made a sign to the waiter.
They returned to the boulevard; it was a dull, damp day, and there was
some mud on the pavement; but, as it was a Sunday, there was a great
throng on the boulevards, for there are multitudes of people in Paris
who are determined to walk out on Sunday, whatever the weather, and who,
when the rain begins to fall in torrents, vanish only to reappear a
moment later, armed with umbrellas, and stroll along, looking in the
shop windows, as if the sun were shining.
Dupont offered Georgette his arm; he did not know how to begin the
conversation, being sadly embarrassed. The girl enjoyed his confusion
for some minutes, then began:
"Well, Monsieur l'Américain from Brives-la-Gaillarde, has your meeting
with your friend Jolibois made you dumb? Really, that would be a pity,
you say such pretty things sometimes!"
Dupont tried to recover his self-possession, and replied:
"My charming neighbor, I confess that that meeting was not very
agreeable to me!"
"Oh! I believe you there!"
"In the first place, Jolibois was drunk; it was easy enough to see that
he'd been drinking too much, for he didn't know what he was saying. He
recognized me--and then he took me for somebody else."
Georgette stopped, looked her escort squarely in the face, and said in a
very sharp tone:
"Monsieur Dupont, do you take me for a fool?"
"I, mademoiselle? God forbid! On the contrary, I have every reason to
know that you have a very keen intellect, that you reason perfectly, and
that you are also exceedingly shrewd and satirical."
"In that case, monsieur, don't try to go on with the lies you have told
me, in which, by the way, I never placed much faith: for you are much
more like a Limousin than an American. You were never an American. You
came to Paris from Brives-la-Gaillarde, as your friend Jolibois has just
told you. But what I am least able to forgive is your passing yourself
off as a widower while your wife is still living! Fie, monsieur! to deny
your wife is a shameful thing!"
Dupont saw that he must abandon falsehood.
"Mademoiselle," he faltered. "Well, yes--it is true--I admit it. But I
was so anxious to make your acquaintance! And if I had told you I was
married, you wouldn't have consented to receive me."
"Why not? On the contrary, it would have given me more confidence in
you. I would have said: 'Here's a man who doesn't try to deceive
me.'--But to pretend to be a widower--to attempt to play the bachelor
here, while your poor wife is lamenting your absence, no doubt!"
"Oh, no! you may be quite easy in your mind as to that! My wife doesn't
lament my absence in the least. She was one of the first to urge me to
come to Paris, and to come without her."
"And to pretend to be a bachelor?"
"I don't say that she went so far as that; but when a woman allows her
husband to travel without her, that means that she is willing he should
play the bachelor; for, after all, my dear little neighbor, men aren't
nuns, and you understand----"
"Enough, monsieur, enough! not another word on that subject!"
"Very good; I ask nothing better.--But I think I felt a drop of rain."
"Yes, it's raining. Let's go back to the restaurant; there will probably
be room now."
They returned to Bonvalet's, where the waiter made the same reply:
"Everything's taken in the public room; but I happen to have a private
room; I advise you to take it quick, or somebody else will get
possession."
Dupont looked at Georgette, who replied:
"All right! let's take the private room, as we can't do anything else."
Our gallant was overjoyed. The waiter escorted them into a warm,
comfortable, well-closed room, where a table was already laid for two.
"Really, one would think that they expected us!" said Georgette,
removing her bonnet and shawl.
"Guests are always expected at a restaurant."
"Of course; but these two covers all laid!"
"It is probably a room in which they never put more than two."
"No matter. Give your order quickly, monsieur, for I am awfully hungry."
"I would like to know what you prefer."
"Oh! I like everything."
"And there is nothing that I don't like; so the matter can be easily
arranged."
Dupont ordered a choice, toothsome dinner, with a great variety of
wines. He attempted to sit on a sofa beside Georgette; but she compelled
him to sit opposite her, on the other side of the table.
"You would be in my way at dinner," she said; "and I don't like to be
hampered when I am eating."
"I must not annoy her," said Dupont to himself. "I must go softly, for I
have much to be forgiven for. Let's wait till the generous wines
arrive."
Georgette did honor to the dinner; but she drank very little, although
her companion did his utmost to induce her to, crying, as he filled her
glass with beaune première:
"Above all things, don't put water in this wine; it would be downright
murder! It's the most delicious beaune there is."
"That makes absolutely no difference to me," replied the girl. "I never
drink pure wine. I prefer it with water."
"That's all right with common wines. But this, which costs four francs a
bottle--it's sacrilege to put water in it!"
"In that case, my dear Monsieur Dupont, you shouldn't have ordered
anything but common wines; then you wouldn't have exposed me to the risk
of committing crimes."
Dupont was vexed; but, to compensate himself for his disappointment, he
was very careful to drink his own beaune pure, and he resorted to it
frequently, to keep up his courage and his gayety. He was beginning to
risk an affectionate word or two, when Georgette abruptly interposed,
saying:
"Is madame your wife pretty?"
Dupont frowned, as he replied:
"Quite--but not so well built as you--far from it! Ah! if she had your
enchanting figure!"
"Are her eyes black or blue?"
"They are--they are green, like a cat's."
"Oh! what a misfortune! You say that your wife has eyes like a cat's?"
"What do I care?--And your mouth is so lovely! Your smile charms me
beyond words!"
"And her teeth--are they fine?"
"Whose teeth?"
"Your wife's."
"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle, don't you propose to talk about anything but my
wife? I will confess that I didn't ask you to dine with me in order to
hear you talk about her."
"That may be; but the subject is very interesting to me."
"Must I tell you again, my lovely Georgette, that in Paris I have no
wife, that I am a bachelor again?"
"True; I know perfectly well that you would like to make people think
so. But, after all, my dear Monsieur Dupont, you may be quite sure of
one thing, and that is that it's a matter of indifference to me whether
you are married or single."
Dupont wondered how he ought to take that. He concluded to look upon it
as an omen favorable to his love, and filled his neighbor's glass with
grenache, saying:
"This is a lady's wine, very sweet, which won't stand water. Taste it, I
beg you."
Georgette took one swallow of grenache, then put her glass on the table.
"I don't like sweetened wines," she said.
"Sapristi! what in heaven's name does she like?" thought Dupont; and to
console himself, he emptied his own glass at a draught.
But by dint of trying to maintain his aplomb, he became as red as his
friend Jolibois; and when the champagne was brought, he left his chair
and proposed to Georgette to dance the polka with him. She laughed in
his face and sent him back to his seat. He filled a glass with champagne
and offered it to the girl.
"Don't you like champagne either?" he asked.
"Oh, no! it has an effervescence, a sparkle, that arouses---- Does your
wife like it?"
Dupont brought his fist down on the table, drank a glass of champagne,
and cried:
"Upon my word, you're laughing at me! But you shall pay me for it! That
calls for revenge, and I propose to avenge myself by kissing you."
As he spoke, he rose and rushed toward Georgette, and tried to put his
arms about her. But she checked him with a firm hand.
"None of this nonsense, Monsieur Dupont," she said, "or I shall be
seriously angry."
"What, dear angel! do you really mean to refuse me this?"
"I shall refuse you everything; you may be sure of that."
"Oho! why, then you have been laughing at me, making a fool of me!"
"In what way have I made a fool of you, monsieur?"
"In what way? Why, in every way! When a woman accepts a man's
attentions, when she consents to receive presents from him,--a shawl, a
bonnet, and heaven knows what!--she doesn't send him about his business
afterward, do you understand, mademoiselle?"
"I understand, monsieur, that you are as foolish as you are impertinent.
Did I ever give you the slightest hope that I would be your mistress?
You taunt me for accepting a few paltry presents. I have made you some
much more valuable ones, by consenting to receive your visits, to go to
walk and to the theatre with you, to put my arm in yours. Do you count
all that as nothing, monsieur?"
"I don't say that. But you consented to dine with me in a private room;
and when a woman goes to a private dining-room with a gentleman--it
isn't for the purpose of being cruel. Everybody knows that."
"Oh! I could well afford to dine tête-à-tête with you, monsieur, for you
have never been at all dangerous to me."
"Then why have you always refused until to-day?"
"Because I didn't choose to give you hopes that could not be realized."
"And why did you accept to-day?"
"Because it bored me to walk about in the rain with you. But, never
fear, monsieur, I shall not be caught again."
Dupont was terribly put out; but self-esteem, the wine he had drunk, and
the mocking glances of the girl, who seemed to defy him--all these
excited him beyond measure, and he determined to face even Mademoiselle
Georgette's wrath. He said to himself that he was nothing but a
simpleton, that the girl was laughing at him, that he would never have
so favorable an opportunity again, and that he would be a fool not to
take advantage of it. All these reflections passed through his mind like
a flash of lightning; having failed in his attempt to kiss his intended
victim, he ventured to attack her in a different fashion. Instantly he
received a smart blow as the reward of his audacity.
"Leave me, monsieur," said Georgette, rising from her seat; "you are an
insolent fellow, and I will not remain with you another minute."
"Oh! I am very sorry, my lovely neighbor, but I will not leave you,"
replied Dupont, who had lost his head completely; and he succeeded in
seizing the short striped petticoat that Georgette had on. "No, no; I
have got hold of that charming little skirt which is so becoming to you,
and which I have gazed at and admired so often! I've got it, and I won't
let it go."
"All right! then keep it, monsieur, for it's all you will ever have of
mine!"
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.
VII
THE SECOND PETTICOAT
On the day following that dinner, Mademoiselle Georgette left her modest
little chamber on Rue de Seine very early in the morning; for she had
taken care to give notice in the middle of the quarter.
This time she hired lodgings in the Marais, on Boulevard Beaumarchais,
where rows of handsome houses, solidly constructed, now replace the
paths, shaded by secular trees, which used often to serve as places of
assignation for lovelorn couples.
The young embroiderer exchanged her attic room for a small apartment,
still very modest, but indicating a less precarious financial condition.
The furniture, too, was more pretentious; it was not that of a
_petite-maîtresse_, but it was no longer that of a grisette.
Mademoiselle Georgette changed her business also; she abandoned
embroidery to become a shirtmaker; and as she sewed as well as she
embroidered, she did not lack work.
Lastly, the short fustian skirt gave place to a petticoat of black silk,
which fell gracefully over her alluring figure and reached only halfway
to her ankle, so that it disclosed the lower part of a very shapely leg
and the beginning of a plump calf.
In her own room, the pretty shirtmaker affected the costume that she
wore in the attic on Rue de Seine, a tight-fitting white jacket, and the
short skirt that was so becoming to her. Add to these, spotlessly clean
white stockings, and a tiny foot neatly shod, and she was quite certain
to turn the heads of all who saw her in that charming négligé.
Georgette lived now at the rear of a courtyard; but that courtyard was
spacious, airy, and well kept; it was square in shape, and the tenants
of the building in front looked on the boulevard and on the courtyard,
while those in the building at the rear had the latter view only; and
when they sat at their windows, they could see nothing but one another.