only a pretext; she regrets her ill treatment of me and means to reward
my love at last. Yes, indeed; I will certainly keep the appointment she
gives me."
He went to his wife, and said to her:
"My dear love, I must make another little trip to Paris. It is necessary
for me to see Jolibois, and I believe that it will be good for my health
too. I could hardly wake up this morning."
"Yes, my dear, yes, go to Paris," replied madame; "it can't help doing
you good; but don't stay so long as you did the last time."
That is why our old acquaintance was walking in the Jardin des Plantes,
on the designated avenue, on the 25th of September, feeling from time to
time in the pocket of his full-skirted coat, in which he had bestowed
the little striped petticoat he was requested to return.
Ere long Dupont noticed that he kept passing a person of mature years,
but dressed with much elegance; this was no other than Monsieur de
Mardeille, who had received the following note a few days before:
"If Monsieur de Mardeille will take the trouble to be at the Jardin
des Plantes, on the path in front of the monkey house, on the 25th
of this month, about two o'clock in the afternoon, he will find
there Mademoiselle Georgette, who will explain her conduct toward
him. It would be very obliging on his part if he would bring with
him her little black petticoat."
Monsieur de Mardeille was very careful not to miss that appointment, for
he was consumed by a longing to see Georgette once more.
"Perhaps she means to return the twelve thousand francs I was stupid
enough to give her," he said to himself.
And having made a neat parcel of the little black petticoat, he put it
in his overcoat pocket and betook himself to the place indicated in the
note.
After a little time, a third personage appeared on the same path; this
was the young Vicomte Edward de Sommerston, who had received a letter of
precisely the same tenor as Monsieur de Mardeille's, except that he was
requested to bring with him a _white_ petticoat. As our young dandy was
not inclined to carry a petticoat in his pocket, he was accompanied by a
very diminutive groom, who carried the garment in question under his arm
and had an abundant supply of cigarettes in his hand.
As these three gentlemen were walking back and forth along the same
path, they soon noticed one another.
"Anyone would say that those two dandies also have appointments here,"
said Dupont to himself.
"Those two fellows are evidently waiting here for someone," thought the
viscount, as he puffed at his cigarette.
And Monsieur de Mardeille made a similar reflection as he passed the
other two.
Before long there was a smart shower. Instantly all the promenaders and
monkey fanciers disappeared, except the three gentlemen with the
petticoats. They continued to walk to and fro on the same path; and as
there was no one else left there save themselves and the little groom,
they could not doubt that they were all there by appointment. They began
to smile as they passed one another; it was easy to see that they
divined one another's motives for being there, and that they had at
their tongue's end some such words as:
"How tedious this waiting is! Gad! if it weren't for a charming woman,
I'd have gone away long ago!"
Dupont had been tempted more than once to enter into conversation with
his fellow promenaders, but he had not dared.
"The time wouldn't seem so long, if I were talking with these
gentlemen," he said to himself; "that would divert my thoughts and make
it easier to be patient; but perhaps they are not in a mood for
talking."
Suddenly Edward stopped and drew his watch. Monsieur de Mardeille did
the same; whereupon Monsieur Dupont walked up to them, drew his own
watch, and ventured to say:
"I beg pardon, messieurs, but will you allow me to ask what time you
make it? My watch may be a little fast, and I should like to be certain
of the time. I say twenty-two minutes past two."
"Two twenty-two; that's my time, too," said Monsieur de Mardeille.
"Faith! messieurs, we go better than Charles the Fifth's clocks," said
the viscount, after consulting his watch; "I agree with you exactly."
"Didn't Charles the Fifth's clocks go well?" inquired Dupont.
"Don't you know that that monarch, after abdicating, cultivated a
passion for clockmaking? He amused himself mending and improving clocks;
he had an enormous number of them, and they went so well together that
sometimes, as a reward of his labors, he had the pleasure of hearing
them strike twelve for a whole hour!"
They laughed heartily over Charles the Fifth's clocks; then Dupont
observed:
"I had a rendezvous for two o'clock, here in this path."
"So had I."
"And I."
"But women are never on time!"
"No, never!"
"Especially when they are young and pretty; they know that we'll wait
for them."
"Yes, they are too anxious to make us long for them to come."
"As for myself," said Edward, "I propose to wait just five minutes more;
but if Mademoiselle Georgette hasn't arrived at the half-hour, I am
going away!"
"Georgette!" cried Monsieur de Mardeille.
"Georgette!" muttered Monsieur Dupont. "On my word! this is strange;
it's a Georgette I am waiting for, too!"
"And I."
"Pardieu! this is rather unique! A dark girl, medium height, but built
like a Venus! And such a foot! and a leg! altogether enchanting!"
"That is the exact portrait of the person I am waiting for."
"It is the exact portrait of the Georgette who wrote to me."
"This becomes decidedly interesting!" said the viscount. "I have her
letter here."
"So have I."
"And I."
"Let us compare them. Yes, it certainly is the same writing! Well,
messieurs, I have a petticoat of hers here, which she left in my hands
and asked me to bring back to her.--Tom! come here and show what you
have under your arm."
The little groom drew near and unfolded the white petticoat; Monsieur de
Mardeille and Dupont instantly took the petticoats out of their pockets,
and exhibited them, saying:
"I also have brought her a petticoat."
"And so have I, as you see."
Thereupon the three gentlemen laughed so uproariously that the monkeys
tried to imitate them. When their outburst of hilarity had subsided, the
viscount said:
"Don't you believe that the girl has made fools of us by writing to us
all to meet her at the same place?"
"I begin to think so," said Mardeille.
"And she made us come in front of the monkeys!" exclaimed Dupont. "She
selected this place purposely."
"She certainly won't come; it is past the half-hour. I am going away."
"Wait a moment, monsieur; there's a lady coming in this direction."
"But she is with a gentleman."
"Mademoiselle Georgette didn't write us that she would come alone."
"I can't distinguish her features yet, for she has on a bonnet. But it
isn't her figure at all. This one has an enormous funnel-shaped skirt."
"That's a hoopskirt--the latest fashion."
"Great God! how ugly she is! The Georgette I am expecting used to dress
in such excellent taste! One could see how she was built."
"Still, the nearer she comes, the more I think that I recognize her."
"Why, yes, that's so! I would swear that it is she."
"It is she! it certainly is, messieurs. See, she's coming toward us!
There's no doubt about it now."
XXIV
THE MOTIVE
It was, in fact, Georgette, dressed in good taste, but very simply, and
wearing one of the skirts then in fashion, which transformed a woman
into a sugar loaf. She was arm in arm with Colinet, who had entirely
laid aside his artless, timid manner.
Georgette and her escort walked up to the three gentlemen, and the young
woman bowed pleasantly to them, saying:
"Excuse me, messieurs, for having kept you waiting. It was our driver's
fault, for his horses hardly crawled. Allow me, first of all, to present
my husband, Monsieur Colinet."
Colinet gravely saluted the three men, who returned his salutation.
"Did she send for us to introduce her husband?" they said to themselves.
"That was hardly worth while!"
"I asked you to meet me in this garden, messieurs," continued Georgette,
"because I know that there are paths here where very few people pass,
and where we can talk as if we were at home. I see one on the other side
of these flower beds, where we shall be very comfortable; will you have
the kindness to go there with me?"
The three gentlemen bowed, and the whole party walked to a path, usually
quite deserted, where there were benches. Georgette and her husband
having seated themselves, the others did the same, and the little groom
stood at some distance. Then the young woman turned to Messieurs de
Sommerston and de Mardeille, and addressed them thus:
"A few words will suffice to inform you why I acted as I did with
respect to you. In the first place, messieurs, I am neither from
Normandie nor from Bordeaux; I am a Lorrainer; Toul is my native place;
my parents, who are poor but honorable farmers, are named Granery; I am
the sister of Aimée and Suzanne."
The viscount and Monsieur de Mardeille made a gesture of surprise and
their brows grew dark when they heard those names; while Dupont thought:
"What has this to do with me?"
"Yes," continued Georgette, addressing Mardeille, "I am the sister of
that poor Aimée, who came to Paris, where she hoped, by means of her
skill in embroidery, to be able to help her parents. As ill luck would
have it, she fell in with you. Aimée was beautiful, and she caught your
fancy; being innocent and inexperienced, she believed your fine
speeches, your promises, your oaths--in short, she allowed herself to
be seduced. A child, a son, was the result of her misstep. But you had
already begun to act differently toward her, your visits became more
rare; and when she asked you for the means to support and bring up her
child, then you ceased entirely to see her. Ah! monsieur, a man must be
very hard-hearted to behave like that. To stop loving a person is
possible, I admit; but to spurn a mother who asks you for bread for her
child! Oh! that is shameful!"
Monsieur de Mardeille hung his head and made no reply. Thereupon
Georgette turned to the viscount:
"Do I need to remind you, monsieur, that your treatment of my sister
Suzanne was exactly the same as this gentleman's treatment of Aimée? You
seduced a poor girl who was innocence itself--you cannot deny it; then,
after making her the mother of a daughter, you abandoned her, and, to
avoid seeing her tears and hearing her complaints, you went away, you
left Paris. My sisters returned to the province, in utter despair. They
threw themselves at our parents' feet, with the children they were
nursing; and, instead of cursing them, my parents wept with them and
tried to comfort them; for with us, people don't curse their children
when they are unfortunate. Isn't it more natural to forgive them? But I,
seeing my sisters weep every day over their children's cradles, said to
myself: 'I will go to Paris, too, but I will go to avenge them!'--I was
twenty years old, I was well and strong, and I was especially noted for
a resolute will. My parents tried in vain to oppose my determination. I
started for Paris. Unfortunately, Aimée did not know Monsieur de
Mardeille's address, and Suzanne did not know whether Monsieur de
Sommerston had returned to Paris. But nothing could deter me.--'I shall
succeed in finding them,' I said to myself; 'and something leads me to
hope that my enterprise will be successful.'--I flattered myself that I
should be able to make your acquaintance, messieurs. You know whether I
succeeded.--Now, Monsieur de Mardeille, is it necessary for me to tell
you that the twelve thousand francs I asked of you was for your son,
that it has been invested in his name, and will be used to bring him
up?--And you, monsieur le vicomte, whom I asked for twenty thousand
francs, because I knew that you were a richer man, and because a girl's
education costs more than a boy's--you know now that that sum will be
used to bring up Suzanne's daughter, and to provide her with a
dowry.--Well, messieurs, do you consider now that my conduct was so
blamable? That money, with which you intended to seduce and ruin me, as
you ruined my sisters, I have put to a good use. It will make it
possible to bring up your children carefully; and what you would have
employed in an evil action will accomplish a result that will do you
honor. Tell me, messieurs, do you bear me a grudge now?"
"Faith! no," cried the viscount; "the play was well acted! You performed
your part perfectly! Accept my congratulations, madame, together with
this petticoat, which I hasten to restore to you.--Here, Tom! hand that
garment to madame."
Monsieur de Mardeille did not seem to have accepted the inevitable so
gracefully as the viscount; however, he realized that he must resign
himself, and at least pretend to repent of his wrongdoing. Consequently,
he said to Georgette:
"Madame, I judged you ill, that is true. I did treat your sister Aimée
somewhat inconsiderately, and you have repaired my neglect, my fault.
We men are drawn on by the current of business and pleasure, and are
sometimes at fault when we do not mean to be. Present my compliments to
your sister. Here is the little petticoat that became you so well!"
"But why am I mixed up in this affair, madame, I who never seduced any
of your sisters?"
"You, monsieur," replied Georgette, with a smile--"I took you at first
for an honorable, loyal man, whose arm I could accept without fear, for
I was alone in Paris. I did not then know the addresses of these
gentlemen, which my sisters succeeded in obtaining for me later. I
wanted to go to the play and to the fashionable promenades, hoping to
discover, to meet there, the persons I was absolutely determined to
find."
"I understand; you used me as an escort."
"Something like it, monsieur. As for your love, that didn't frighten me.
When I learned that you had lied to me, that you were married, as it was
a matter of perfect indifference to me, I might have forgiven you; but
you attempted to take most unbecoming liberties with me! So then,
monsieur, I left you without ceremony, abandoning in your hands a little
petticoat--which you have brought to me, I hope?"
"Yes, madame, here it is."
And Dupont, hanging his head rather sheepishly, produced his little
parcel and handed it to Georgette. She took it and gave it to her
husband; then she rose, and, with a graceful courtesy to the three men
who had been in love with her, said:
"Now that I am rehabilitated in your eyes, messieurs, it remains for me
only to wish you whatever may be most agreeable to you."
And, after bowing once more, Georgette took her husband's arm and walked
away with him.
Her three ex-lovers looked after her, and the viscount exclaimed:
"Sapristi! what a difference between that huge funnel and the little
petticoat that outlined her form so perfectly! Ah! if I had seen her
dressed as she is to-day, all this wouldn't have happened!"
"Indeed, it wouldn't!" cried Monsieur de Mardeille; "indeed, it wouldn't
have happened; I should still have my twelve thousand francs."
"I agree with you entirely, messieurs," said Dupont; "what a difference
in her shape! And the change is not to her advantage! The idea of
getting into that sugar-loaf affair, instead of letting us see her
graceful outlines! Ah! madame! what a scurvy trick to play on us!"
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Naught save the true is beautiful or lovable.
[B]
How now! you say nothing!
My friend, 'tis not nice of you!
Once it was different,
Remember, I pray you!
[C] True joys have fixed their abiding place in the fields; We fear the
gods more there, and there make love more at our ease.
[D]
I saw you of late, as you worked at the pump;
In you all is charming, all is true, nothing false;
'Tis then you display in your movements such grace that
One would gladly be damned, if he might pump with you.
[E]
You have a saucy countenance,
A graceful figure;
A killing eye, a tiny foot,
And piquant bearing;
Your petticoat, too, I admire,
And all that one divines
Beneath,
And all that one divines!
[F]
My candle's gone out,
No fire have I;
Pray open your door,
For the love of the Lord!
[G] Colinet is misled by the twofold meaning of the French word
_broche_.--_Mettre une broche_--to put on a brooch. _Mettre à la
broche_--to put on the spit; _i.e.,_ to roast.
[H] This play upon words cannot be reproduced in English. L. says: _Je
l'entends très-bien!_ But _entendre_ means to _hear_, as well as to
_understand;_ so the other retorts: _Tu l'entends, mais tu ne le
comprends pas;_ you hear, but you don't understand.
[I] All styles are good, except the tiresome style.
End of Project Gutenberg's Frédérique; vol. 2, by Charles Paul de Kock