no one of them had ever shown the slightest desire to gaze at one of the
beauties of the establishment; to be sure, there were none, save the
ugly man's wife, and she never appeared at any of the windows looking on
the courtyard. Her bedroom faced the boulevard, and she would have
considered that she compromised her reputation by showing herself at one
of the rear windows.
By way of compensation, her husband was one of the most enterprising,
one of those who tried most frequently to see Georgette, and who
indulged in telegraphic signals to which the young shirtmaker paid no
attention whatever. But that did not discourage Monsieur Bistelle,--that
was the gentleman's name,--who continued to throw kisses to the girl,
which she pretended not to see; it scandalized all the neighbors,
however.
The young dressmakers amused themselves at Monsieur Bistelle's expense,
and pointed him out to one another as soon as he appeared at his window.
The lady of the beauty spot, Madame Picotée, always stationed herself
at her window as soon as her neighbor came to his, and burst into roars
of laughter, a little forced. At every kiss that Monsieur Bistelle threw
to Georgette, she cried:
"Oh! mon Dieu! what fools some men are! but I never saw one quite so bad
as this fellow! And a married man, too! why, it's shocking! The Bastille
ought to be rebuilt on purpose for such people."
Monsieur Bistelle heard it all; but it made no impression on him, and he
often said to himself, in an undertone:
"Bah! if I had chosen to send her a kiss, she wouldn't have thought it
so shocking!"
Monsieur de Mardeille was very careful not to act so foolishly as his
neighbor on the second floor. He also stood at his window to look at
Georgette; but, far from making signs and throwing kisses to her, he
contented himself with a low bow, to which the girl never failed to
respond with a pleasant smile. But as Bistelle was often looking out
just as Georgette nodded and smiled, he took for himself the salutation
addressed to the floor below; so that his hopes gained strength; he was
enchanted; he would rub his hands in glee and sometimes go down to walk
in the courtyard, where he would stop under the shirtmaker's windows,
humming:
"''Tis here that Rose doth dwell!'"
or:
"'When one knows how to love and please,
What other blessing doth he lack?'"
And the young dressmakers never failed to clap their hands and demand an
encore. One day, Madame Picotée had the bright idea of tossing him two
sous, which he laughingly picked up and put in his pocket, saying:
"This will buy me some rouge and rice powder."--Which remark maddened
the lady of the beauty spot, who ran for her slop jar and would have
emptied it on her neighbor, but for the presence of the concierge, who
was sweeping the courtyard.
Meanwhile Frontin, who soon discovered that his master was enamored of
the damsel of the entresol, told him all that happened in the house, and
all the foolish freaks to which Monsieur Bistelle resorted in his
endeavors to commend himself to Mademoiselle Georgette.
"What do you say? that ugly creature hopes to make a conquest of that
pretty grisette?" cried Monsieur de Mardeille; "didn't he ever look at
himself in the glass?"
"I don't know whether he knows how ugly he is," replied Frontin; "but I
assure you, monsieur, that he flatters himself that he has made an
impression on Mademoiselle Georgette; he declares that she smiles
sweetly at him when he's at his window."
"Smiles! Why, it's at me that the girl smiles, not at him! It's
impossible that it should be at him! The conceited ass! the monkey! for
the fellow looks very much like a monkey, doesn't he, Frontin?"
"Yes, monsieur; and he makes gestures like one, too."
"What! do you mean to say that he presumes to do what monkeys do?"
"Faith! monsieur, he goes through some very curious performances;
they're very much like it! But that isn't all."
"What else is there, Frontin?"
"I know that Monsieur Bistelle sent a very fine bouquet to Mademoiselle
Georgette this morning."
"A bouquet! The popinjay! He had the assurance! And did the little one
accept his bouquet?"
"Yes, monsieur; indeed, it's on her window sill now."
"Can it be possible? I must look."
Monsieur de Mardeille lost no time in going where he could see the
shirtmaker's window; he not only saw a huge bouquet on the sill, but he
saw Monsieur Bistelle walking in the courtyard and humming:
"And if I am not there,
At least my flowers will be."
"Well, well! I must act, that is plain!" said the elderly dandy to
himself; "I must declare myself in some other way than by standing at
the window. Still, I can't make a straight dash for that grisette's
rooms; that might compromise me. Ah! I have an idea! It's as simple as
can be. She makes shirts. There's a pretext right at my hand.--Look you,
Frontin."
"Here I am, monsieur."
"I want you to go to Mademoiselle Georgette's."
"The pretty neighbor's?"
"Yes; you will present yourself in my name, and most politely. You will
say to her that, as I have heard that she is a shirtmaker and as I have
some very fine shirts to be made up---- That isn't true; I don't need
any, but they are always useful and I can safely order a dozen.--You
will say to her then, that, as I have some work for her, I shall be much
obliged if she will take the trouble to come to my rooms. You
understand: in this way, I don't compromise myself, and I shall be able
to talk to her much more freely than in her apartment."
"Yes, monsieur, yes; I will go and do your errand."
"Be perfectly courteous and respectful; that flatters these little
girls."
"Yes, monsieur; and you don't want me to take her a bouquet too?"
"Nonsense! what good do bouquets do? There's nothing so commonplace! Do
you suppose that I intend to copy Monsieur Bistelle? No, no, never a
bouquet; I don't need that sort of thing to succeed. Go, Frontin; if the
young shirtmaker asks you at what time I can receive her, say that she
is entirely at liberty to choose the hour that is most convenient to
her, and that she will always be welcome. I think that's rather pretty,
eh? That's worth more than a bouquet."
Frontin departed, to perform the mission with which his master had
intrusted him. But the bouquet sent to Georgette by Bistelle had been
seen by the whole house. Instantly, as if he had lighted a train of
powder, all the aspirants to the girl's favor had determined that they
must not lag behind, and that the moment had come to try to make her
acquaintance.
The young literary man who dabbled in poetry purchased a small bunch of
violets for two sous--we are all gallant according to our means;--but he
wrapped it in a sheet of note paper, whereon he had written this
quatrain:
"Je vous ai vue, agissant à la pompe;
En vous tout est charmant, tout est vrai, rien ne trompe;
Vous déployez alors des mouvements si doux,
Que l'on se damnerait pour pomper avec vous!"[D]
The young poet gave his bouquet and his verses to the concierge, to be
delivered, instructing him to say to the girl that she must read what
was written on the paper. A little later, the poet's confrère also
appeared with a modest bouquet; but his forte was vaudevilles rather
than poetry, so that the offering which accompanied his flowers was a
ballad, and he laid the same injunction on the concierge.
Next came the photographer, who sent a package of photographs of the
most popular actors. It is well known that young working girls, as a
general rule, have a pronounced penchant for actors. Our photographer
had no doubt that his gift would be most acceptable, and he told the
concierge to say to Mademoiselle Georgette that he would be highly
flattered if he might be permitted to photograph her.
Next came the miniature painter, who sent a dainty pasteboard box on
which he had painted a swarm of little cupids in exceedingly graceful
attitudes. As he handed his box to the concierge, he said:
"You will not fail to assure Mademoiselle Georgette that the artist who
executed all these cupids would esteem himself very fortunate if he
might paint his neighbor's portrait free of charge, and in whatever
costume may be most agreeable to her."
A few moments after the miniature painter, the young doctor appeared and
handed the concierge a package, saying:
"Be kind enough to hand this to Mademoiselle Georgette, with my
compliments; it contains mauve, linden leaves, and poppy seeds; they are
all excellent to take when one has a cold, and it rarely happens that a
person goes a whole year without a cold. You will say to the young lady
that I solicit her permission to attend her."
Lastly, the old bachelor himself had purchased a box of candied fruit,
without his maid-servant's knowledge. But he took care not to intrust
his gift to the concierge, for if he did he knew that his servant would
certainly be told of it. So he went out on the boulevard and found a
little bootblack, to whom he handed his box and gave instructions where
to deliver it; and as he did not choose to remain incognito, lest his
pretty neighbor should attribute his gift to somebody else, he
instructed his messenger to say to her:
"Your neighbor, Monsieur Renardin, sends you this box, with his
compliments.--Above all things," he added, "don't stop at the
concierge's lodge, and don't speak to him; go straight to Mademoiselle
Georgette's room on the entresol. You are paid, so take nothing from
her."
Affairs were in this condition when Monsieur de Mardeille sent his valet
Frontin to Georgette's room. From early morning, the concierge, having
received the presents one after another, had passed all his time going
back and forth from his lodge to the entresol, where the young
shirtmaker accepted without hesitation everything that was sent to her,
simply saying to the concierge:
"Say to monsieur that I thank him."
"Don't forget to read the verses, mademoiselle; there's verses written
on the paper," said the concierge, when he delivered the bunches of
violets.
"All right; I'll read everything, but I shall not answer anything."
Georgette had read the quatrain, and was humming the vaudevillist's
ballad, which was written to the tune of _La Boulangère_, laughing
heartily at the words:
"Vous avez un minois fripon,
Une taille tres-fine;
L'oeil assassin, le pied mignon,
La tournure mutine;
J'admire enfin votre jupon
Et tout ce qu'on devine
De rond,
Et tout ce qu'on devine!"[E]
when the concierge appeared once more, with the package of photographs
of actors; and a few moments later with the box adorned with cupids.
"What! more?" said Georgette. "Why, these gentlemen seem to have passed
the word around to-day to pay compliments to me!"
"Faith! yes, mademoiselle, they're standing in line at my door. But I
don't complain; to tell you the truth, all these young men are well
intentioned; all they want is to pay their respects to you; that's what
they told me to tell you."
"I accept the little gifts, monsieur; they serve to keep up--pleasant
relations; but be good enough to say to these gentlemen that I do not
want their respects, and beg them not to take the trouble of coming to
offer them to me."
"The devil!" muttered the concierge, as he went away; "the young
shirtmaker is one of the virtuous kind, it seems; and these gentlemen
won't have anything to show for their presents! But in spite of that,
she accepts everything that comes!"
Georgette had just received the package of simples presented by the
young doctor and had repeated her previous reply to the concierge, when
Monsieur de Mardeille's valet presented himself at her door.
He saluted her with the unceremonious air commonly assumed by servants
who think that their appearance is most welcome; and when Georgette
asked him what he wanted, he replied in an almost patronizing tone:
"I come, mademoiselle, from my master, Monsieur de Mardeille--the
gentleman who lives opposite, on the first floor--an apartment that
rents for three thousand francs. My master is very rich; he has more
than twenty-five thousand francs a year; he might have a carriage if he
chose; he has money enough. The only reason that he hasn't one is that
he doesn't want it."
Georgette laughed in the servant's face.
"Well! what of it?" she retorted. "What do you suppose I care whether
your master has a carriage or not, or how much he pays for his
apartment? Did he send you here to tell me that? Oh! that would be too
stupid!"
Monsieur Frontin was a little disconcerted to find that he had not
produced more effect. He continued, in a less lofty tone:
"No, mademoiselle, no; my master didn't send me here to tell you that.
But I thought--I supposed you would be glad to be informed. One likes to
know with whom one is dealing."
"Do your errand; that will be better than your long speeches."
This time Frontin was altogether disconcerted; he expected to find a
young seamstress only too delighted to receive a message from his
master, and he found that he had to do with a young woman who seemed
strongly inclined to laugh at him. So he decided to be very polite, and
said in a respectful tone:
"My master, mademoiselle, having occasion to have some shirts made, and
knowing that you work in that line, requests you to be kind enough to
call at his apartment, so that he may give you his order and be
measured."
"Monsieur," replied Georgette, in a very decided tone, "you will say to
your master that I am not in the habit of calling upon unmarried men. If
he were married, if his wife were with him, why, I would gladly comply
with his request, there would be no difficulty about it; but as he is
alone----"
"He has a maid, mademoiselle, and myself."
"Servants don't count, monsieur. I shall not go to your master's
apartment; if he has an order to give me, he can take the trouble to
come here; I will receive him and his twenty-five thousand francs a
year, with or without a carriage!"
Frontin was piqued; in the first place, because the young woman had said
that servants did not count; and secondly, because she seemed to make
very little account of his master's exalted position. He replied, with
evident irritation:
"Why, where would be the harm, mademoiselle? Suppose you should come to
Monsieur de Mardeille's rooms; you wouldn't be the first one to do it!
He receives ladies--a great many ladies! And they _are_ ladies, too, who
don't work for everybody."
"Monsieur le valet de chambre, you are a donkey! You talk nothing but
nonsense!"
"What's that? I am a donkey! Allow me----"
"I don't doubt that your master receives many ladies, and for that very
reason I don't propose to add to the number."
"But----"
"Enough of this! You have my answer; go and repeat it to Monsieur de
Mardeille."
Frontin was on the point of making some retort, when a great uproar in
the courtyard attracted the attention of all the tenants of the house.
X
A BOX OF CANDIED FRUIT
The reader will remember that Monsieur Renardin, one of Georgette's
neighbors, who had a maid of all work, had purchased a box of candied
fruit and had employed a little bootblack to deliver it to Georgette,
and had told him that she lived on the entresol at the rear of the
courtyard.
But the young fellow, who was a messenger as well as a bootblack, was a
child of Auvergne, and had just as much intelligence as he required to
black boots or to carry a pail of water; almost all water carriers are
Auvergnats. He put the box of candied fruit under his arm; it was
carefully wrapped in white paper and tied with pink ribbon. He entered
the designated house, and, passing the concierge's door with his head in
the air, started across the courtyard; but the concierge, who had seen
him pass, ran out of his lodge and stopped him, saying:
"Where in the devil are you going, you young scamp? What do you mean by
marching by my door without a word? That's no way to go into a house, do
you hear, Savoyard?"
"I ain't no Savoyard, I'm an Auvergnat."
"Savoyard or Auvergnat! I don't care which, they're the same thing!
Where are you going, I say?"
"I'm not speaking to you! I'm going straight ahead."
"I see that you don't speak to me; but I speak to you; I'm the
concierge, and I have a right to question you, and you must answer."
"I'm not to speak to the concierge, that's my orders. I'm going straight
ahead."
"What an obstinate little beggar! I tell you, you shan't pass till I
know where you're going!"
"But I tell you I'm going straight ahead to take this box."
"Where?"
"I won't tell you."
"I'll make you tell me! What's in the box? explosive stuff, perhaps? If
you won't answer, I'll take you and your box before the magistrate."
The concierge seized the boy's arm; he struggled and wept, and shouted
at the top of his lungs:
"Let me be--you big thief! Monsieur Renardin, your neighbor, sent me
here, and I'll tell him that you wouldn't let me do my errand!"
Mademoiselle Arthémise, the old bachelor's servant, crossed the
courtyard at that moment. Hearing her master's name, she stopped short,
then ran to the messenger.
"Monsieur Renardin!" she cried; "who wants Monsieur Renardin? This
little fellow?--What do you want of him?"
"Why, no, he doesn't want him; he says that he comes here from him,"
said the concierge; "if the little donkey had only said that at first,
I'd have let him pass."
"From him--he comes from him? Then it's me he wants. Monsieur Renardin
must have sent him to me. What do you want of me, my boy?"
The little Auvergnat looked at Mademoiselle Arthémise, who was a
strapping, red-faced wench of about thirty, with stray hairs on her chin
and upper lip that made her look like a man disguised as a woman.
"Be you Mademoiselle Georgette?" he asked.
"Mademoiselle Georgette!" replied the stout servant, with a savage
glare. "Yes, yes, that's me."
"And you live in the entresol yonder?"
"Yes, yes, it's me, I tell you! Did Monsieur Renardin send you to bring
that box to Mademoiselle Georgette, on the entresol?"
"Yes; it's from your neighbor, with all his compliments, mademoiselle."
"Ah! we'll just look and see what he sends to that hussy!"
And Mademoiselle Arthémise seized the box and was beginning to tear off
the wrapper, when the concierge called to her:
"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle; you take that box when you know
perfectly well it isn't for you."
"What business is it of yours? What do you want to meddle in it for, you
low-lived porter? Does the shirtmaker pay you to look after her lovers'
presents?"
"No, mademoiselle, the shirtmaker doesn't pay me, but I'm bound to do my
duty; if that Auvergnat Savoyard had said what he wanted, I'd have let
him pass and carry to Mademoiselle Georgette what he had for her."
"Oh, yes! everybody knows that you look after the lovers; that's your
business, you know."
"My business is to see that the tenants get what's addressed to them.
Give me that box, which isn't for you."
"Not if I know it! Candied fruits! apricots! Look at this, will you! He
gives candied fruits to that slut, and he says there's no need of my
putting mushrooms in the chicken fricassee! that I spend too much money!
that I ain't economical! Just wait! just wait! I'll give you candied
prunes and cherries packed in straw!"
"But I tell you again to give me that box, Mademoiselle Arthémise; you
are not Mademoiselle Georgette!"
The little Auvergnat, who was just beginning to understand that he had
made a botch of his errand, interposed at that point.
"What! ain't you the lady on the entresol?" he asked.
"Bah! hold your tongue, you brat, it's none of your business! Here,
here's an orange; put that down and show me your heels!"
And Mademoiselle Arthémise stuffed a piece of candied orange into the
bootblack's mouth. He accepted and ate it; but he was none the less
determined to recover the box. He tried to take it away from Monsieur
Renardin's maid, and the concierge seconded his efforts. But the stout
Arthémise was a muscular wench, able to contend with more formidable
antagonists. She began by throwing a slice of quince in the boy's face;
then she planted a candied apricot on the concierge's left eye, whereat
he cried out like an ass whose eye has been put out; then she dealt
blows indiscriminately to right and left.
It was the outcries of the concierge and the little Auvergnat, blended
with roars of laughter from Mademoiselle Arthémise, that had brought all
the tenants to their windows. To add to the uproar, Monsieur Renardin
appeared at that moment, uneasy because his messenger had not returned,
and curious to know how the pretty shirtmaker had received his gift.
The bachelor was horrified when he saw the little Auvergnat on all
fours, looking for the piece of quince, which had fallen to the ground;
the concierge yelling and cursing as he removed the apricot from his
eye, piece by piece; and lastly, the maid of all work, stuffing herself
with candied fruit and saying:
"It's mighty good, all the same! I never tasted it before, but I'll make
him give me some now."
"What does this mean, Arthémise? What are you doing here in the
courtyard, instead of attending to your dinner?" inquired Monsieur
Renardin, with a frown.
"My dinner! Deuce take the dinner! it can take care of itself. I'm
having a treat, I am! I'm eating candied cherries and pears! I say,
monsieur, when you go about it, you send nice presents to young ladies!
But you'd better choose a page who ain't quite so stupid as this one; he
took me for the hussy of the entresol. Oh, my! I didn't say anything; I
just took the box."
"What's that? you little rascal! is this the way you do errands?"
"No, monsieur; it wasn't my fault. Why wouldn't the concierge let me
in?"
"I did my duty; this Savoyard's a fool, and I was just going to send him
to the entresol when Mademoiselle Arthémise told him she was
Mademoiselle Georgette, and that the box was for her."
"What, Arthémise! you dared----"
"Hoity-toity! why should I have hesitated? This little brat brings a box
from you--of course, I thought it was for me. As if I could suppose
that a man of your age would pay court to young girls! that he'd lay out
money for the first pert-faced minx that perches in the house! that he'd
send boxes of candied fruit to a new-comer, a shirtmaker, when he growls
every day because, as he says, I put too much butter in a sauce
that----"
"Enough, mademoiselle! that will do; come with me, and we will have an
explanation upstairs. I don't choose to have the whole house know what
goes on in my establishment."
And Monsieur Renardin walked hastily toward the stairs, not daring to
look at the windows of the entresol. Mademoiselle Arthémise followed her
master, making faces behind his back; she still had the box of candied
fruit in her hand, and she called out to the concierge, laughing in his
face:
"I don't care a snap of my finger! I always get the good things. As for
monsieur, as he don't like bread soup, he can make up his mind to eat
nothing else for a week!"
"If my eye is injured, mademoiselle," said the concierge, "you'll have
to pay the doctor!"
"Count on it, my dear man; apply to Monsieur Renardin; he's the cause of
it all! He's an old rake, and nothing else!"
Georgette had overheard all this from her room, and it had amused her
immensely. Monsieur Frontin, who was on the landing, had stopped there,
in order not to lose a word of the altercation and to be able to report
it faithfully to his master. When there was no one left in the
courtyard, the little Auvergnat having decamped after picking up the
piece of quince, the valet returned to the front building and to his
master's apartment. He began by attempting to tell him what had just
taken place in the courtyard; but Monsieur de Mardeille interrupted him:
"I know all about that; I was at my window. I know that Monsieur
Renardin sent a box of candied fruit to the little shirtmaker, and that
Arthémise, his maid, got possession of the box and ate what was in it.
That Arthémise is a bad one, and her master ought to discharge her at
once. But when a man submits to be domineered over by his servant, he
deserves to have her make a fool of him. However, that doesn't interest
me much; this Monsieur Renardin is not a rival to worry about. You have
been to see the little one? Well! She was flattered, enchanted by my
proposition, of course? When is she coming?"
Frontin drew himself up, assumed a solemn expression, and replied:
"Mademoiselle Georgette did not seem at all flattered by monsieur's
proposition; on the contrary, she put on an air--well, an air as if she
was a great swell!"
"Cut it short, Frontin!"
"Well, monsieur, this shirtmaker doesn't choose to measure you for
shirts; do you understand that?"