The following day, at two o’clock, a young man entered the office,
whom Oscar recognized as Georges Marest, now head-clerk of the notary
Hannequin.
“Ha! here’s the friend of Ali pacha!” he exclaimed in a flippant way.
“Hey! you here, Monsieur l’ambassadeur!” returned Georges, recollecting
Oscar.
“So you know each other?” said Godeschal, addressing Georges.
“I should think so! We got into a scrape together,” replied Georges,
“about two years ago. Yes, I had to leave Crottat and go to Hannequin in
consequence of that affair.”
“What was it?” asked Godeschal.
“Oh, nothing!” replied Georges, at a sign from Oscar. “We tried to hoax
a peer of France, and he bowled us over. Ah ca! so you want to jockey my
cousin, do you?”
“We jockey no one,” replied Oscar, with dignity; “there’s our charter.”
And he presented the famous register, pointing to a place where sentence
of banishment was passed on a refractory who was stated to have been
forced, for acts of dishonesty, to leave the office in 1788.
Georges laughed as he looked through the archives.
“Well, well,” he said, “my cousin and I are rich, and we’ll give you
a fete such as you never had before,--something to stimulate your
imaginations for that register. To-morrow (Sunday) you are bidden to the
Rocher de Cancale at two o’clock. Afterwards, I’ll take you to spend the
evening with Madame la Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos, where
we shall play cards, and you’ll see the elite of the women of fashion.
Therefore, gentleman of the lower courts,” he added, with notarial
assumption, “you will have to behave yourselves, and carry your wine
like the seigneurs of the Regency.”
“Hurrah!” cried the office like one man. “Bravo! very well! vivat! Long
live the Marests!”
“What’s all this about?” asked Desroches, coming out from his private
office. “Ah! is that you, Georges? I know what you are after; you want
to demoralize my clerks.”
So saying, he withdrew into his own room, calling Oscar after him.
“Here,” he said, opening his cash-box, “are five hundred francs. Go
to the Palais, and get from the registrar a copy of the decision in
Vandernesse against Vandernesse; it must be served to-night if possible.
I have promised a PROD of twenty francs to Simon. Wait for the copy if
it is not ready. Above all, don’t let yourself be fooled; for Derville
is capable, in the interest of his clients, to stick a spoke in our
wheel. Count Felix de Vandernesse is more powerful than his brother, our
client, the ambassador. Therefore keep your eyes open, and if there’s
the slightest hitch come back to me at once.”
Oscar departed with the full intention of distinguishing himself in
this little skirmish,--the first affair entrusted to him since his
installation as second clerk.
After the departure of Georges and Oscar, Godeschal sounded the new
clerk to discover the joke which, as he thought, lay behind this
Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos. But Frederic, with the coolness
and gravity of a king’s attorney, continued his cousin’s hoax, and by
his way of answering, and his manner generally, he succeeded in making
the office believe that the marquise might really be the widow of a
Spanish grandee, to whom his cousin Georges was paying his addresses.
Born in Mexico, and the daughter of Creole parents, this young and
wealthy widow was noted for the easy manners and habits of the women of
those climates.
“She loves to laugh, she loves to sing, she loves to drink like me!” he
said in a low voice, quoting the well-known song of Beranger. “Georges,”
he added, “is very rich; he has inherited from his father (who was a
widower) eighteen thousand francs a year, and with the twelve thousand
which an uncle has just left to each of us, he has an income of thirty
thousand. So he pays his debts, and gives up the law. He hopes to be
Marquis de las Florentinas, for the young widow is marquise in her own
right, and has the privilege of giving her titles to her husband.”
Though the clerks were still a good deal undecided in mind as to the
marquise, the double perspective of a breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale
and a fashionable festivity put them into a state of joyous expectation.
They reserved all points as to the Spanish lady, intending to judge her
without appeal after the meeting.
The Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos was neither more nor less
than Mademoiselle Agathe-Florentine Cabirolle, first danseuse at
the Gaiete, with whom uncle Cardot was in the habit of singing “Mere
Godichon.” A year after the very reparable loss of Madame Cardot, the
successful merchant encountered Florentine as she was leaving Coulon’s
dancing-class. Attracted by the beauty of that choregraphic flower
(Florentine was then about thirteen years of age), he followed her to
the rue Pastourel, where he found that the future star of the ballet was
the daughter of a portress. Two weeks later, the mother and daughter,
established in the rue de Crussol, were enjoying a modest competence. It
was to this protector of the arts--to use the consecrated phrase--that
the theatre owed the brilliant danseuse. The generous Maecenas made two
beings almost beside themselves with joy in the possession of mahogany
furniture, hangings, carpets, and a regular kitchen; he allowed them a
woman-of-all-work, and gave them two hundred and fifty francs a month
for their living. Pere Cardot, with his hair in “pigeon-wings,” seemed
like an angel, and was treated with the attention due to a benefactor.
To him this was the age of gold.
For three years the warbler of “Mere Godichon” had the wise policy to
keep Mademoiselle Cabirolle and her mother in this little apartment,
which was only ten steps from the theatre; but he gave the girl, out of
love for the choregraphic art, the great Vestris for a master. In 1820
he had the pleasure of seeing Florentine dance her first “pas” in the
ballet of a melodrama entitled “The Ruins of Babylon.” Florentine was
then about sixteen. Shortly after this debut Pere Cardot became an “old
screw” in the eyes of his protegee; but as he had the sense to see that
a danseuse at the Gaiete had a certain rank to maintain, he raised the
monthly stipend to five hundred francs, for which, although he did not
again become an angel, he was, at least, a “friend for life,” a second
father. This was his silver age.
From 1820 to 1823, Florentine had the experience of every danseuse
of nineteen to twenty years of age. Her friends were the illustrious
Mariette and Tullia, leading ladies of the Opera, Florine, and also poor
Coralie, torn too early from the arts, and love, and Camusot. As old
Cardot had by this time acquired five additional years, he had fallen
into the indulgence of a semi-paternity, which is the way with old men
towards the young talents they have trained, and which owe their success
to them. Besides, where could he have found another Florentine who knew
all his habits and likings, and with whom he and his friends could sing
“Mere Godichon”? So the little old man remained under a yoke that was
semi-conjugal and also irresistibly strong. This was the brass age for
the old fellow.
During the five years of silver and gold Pere Cardot had laid by eighty
thousand francs. The old gentleman, wise from experience, foresaw that
by the time he was seventy Florentine would be of age, probably engaged
at the Opera, and, consequently, wanting all the luxury of a theatrical
star. Some days before the party mentioned by Georges, Pere Cardot
had spent the sum of forty-five thousand francs in fitting up for his
Florentine the former apartment of the late Coralie. In Paris there
are suites of rooms as well as houses and streets that have their
predestinations. Enriched with a magnificent service of plate, the
“prima danseuse” of the Gaiete began to give dinners, spent three
hundred francs a month on her dress, never went out except in a hired
carriage, and had a maid for herself, a cook, and a little footman.
In fact, an engagement at the Opera was already in the wind. The
Cocon d’Or did homage to its first master by sending its most splendid
products for the gratification of Mademoiselle Cabirolle, now called
Florentine. The magnificence which suddenly burst upon her apartment
in the rue de Vendome would have satisfied the most ambitious
supernumerary. After being the master of the ship for seven years,
Cardot now found himself towed along by a force of unlimited caprice.
But the luckless old gentleman was fond of his tyrant. Florentine was
to close his eyes; he meant to leave her a hundred thousand francs. The
iron age had now begun.
Georges Marest, with thirty thousand francs a year, and a handsome face,
courted Florentine. Every danseuse makes a point of having some young
man who will take her to drive, and arrange the gay excursions into the
country which all such women delight in. However disinterested she may
be, the courtship of such a star is a passion which costs some trifles
to the favored mortal. There are dinners at restaurants, boxes at the
theatres, carriages to go to the environs and return, choice wines
consumed in profusion,--for an opera danseuse eats and drinks like an
athlete. Georges amused himself like other young men who pass at a jump
from paternal discipline to a rich independence, and the death of his
uncle, nearly doubling his means, had still further enlarged his ideas.
As long as he had only his patrimony of eighteen thousand francs a year,
his intention was to become a notary, but (as his cousin remarked to the
clerks of Desroches) a man must be stupid who begins a profession with
the fortune most men hope to acquire in order to leave it. Wiser then
Georges, Frederic persisted in following the career of public office,
and of putting himself, as we have seen, in training for it.
A young man as handsome and attractive as Georges might very well aspire
to the hand of a rich creole; and the clerks in Desroches’ office, all
of them the sons of poor parents, having never frequented the great
world, or, indeed, known anything about it, put themselves into their
best clothes on the following day, impatient enough to behold, and be
presented to the Mexican Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos.
“What luck,” said Oscar to Godeschal, as they were getting up in the
morning, “that I had just ordered a new coat and trousers and waistcoat,
and that my dear mother had made me that fine outfit! I have six frilled
shirts of fine linen in the dozen she made for me. We shall make an
appearance! Ha! ha! suppose one of us were to carry off the Creole
marchioness from that Georges Marest!”
“Fine occupation that, for a clerk in our office!” cried Godeschal.
“Will you never control your vanity, popinjay?”
“Ah! monsieur,” said Madame Clapart, who entered the room at that
moment to bring her son some cravats, and overhead the last words of the
head-clerk, “would to God that my Oscar might always follow your advice.
It is what I tell him all the time: ‘Imitate Monsieur Godeschal; listen
to what he tells you.’”
“He’ll go all right, madame,” interposed Godeschal, “but he mustn’t
commit any more blunders like one he was guilty of last night, or he’ll
lose the confidence of the master. Monsieur Desroches won’t stand any
one not succeeding in what he tells them to do. He ordered your son,
for a first employment in his new clerkship, to get a copy of a judgment
which ought to have been served last evening, and Oscar, instead of
doing so, allowed himself to be fooled. The master was furious. It’s a
chance if I have been able to repair the mischief by going this morning,
at six o’clock, to see the head-clerk at the Palais, who has promised me
to have a copy ready by seven o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“Ah, Godeschal!” cried Oscar, going up to him and pressing his hand.
“You are, indeed, a true friend.”
“Ah, monsieur!” said Madame Clapart, “a mother is happy, indeed,
in knowing that her son has a friend like you; you may rely upon a
gratitude which can end only with my life. Oscar, one thing I want to
say to you now. Distrust that Georges Marest. I wish you had never met
him again, for he was the cause of your first great misfortune in life.”
“Was he? How so?” asked Godeschal.
The too devoted mother explained succinctly the adventure of her poor
Oscar in Pierrotin’s coucou.
“I am certain,” said Godeschal, “that that blagueur is preparing some
trick against us for this evening. As for me, I can’t go to the Marquise
de las Florentinas’ party, for my sister wants me to draw up the terms
of her new engagement; I shall have to leave after the dessert. But,
Oscar, be on your guard. They will ask you to play, and, of course, the
Desroches office mustn’t draw back; but be careful. You shall play for
both of us; here’s a hundred francs,” said the good fellow, knowing that
Oscar’s purse was dry from the demands of his tailor and bootmaker. “Be
prudent; remember not to play beyond that sum; and don’t let yourself
get tipsy, either with play or libations. Saperlotte! a second clerk is
already a man of weight, and shouldn’t gamble on notes, or go beyond a
certain limit in anything. His business is to get himself admitted
to the bar. Therefore don’t drink too much, don’t play too long, and
maintain a proper dignity,--that’s your rule of conduct. Above all, get
home by midnight; for, remember, you must be at the Palais to-morrow
morning by seven to get that judgment. A man is not forbidden to amuse
himself, but business first, my boy.”
“Do you hear that, Oscar?” said Madame Clapart. “Monsieur Godeschal is
indulgent; see how well he knows how to combine the pleasures of youth
and the duties of his calling.”
Madame Clapart, on the arrival of the tailor and the bootmaker with
Oscar’s new clothes, remained alone with Godeschal, in order to return
him the hundred francs he had just given her son.
“Ah, monsieur!” she said, “the blessings of a mother will follow you
wherever you go, and in all your enterprises.”
Poor woman! she now had the supreme delight of seeing her son
well-dressed, and she gave him a gold watch, the price of which she had
saved by economy, as the reward of his good conduct.
“You draw for the conscription next week,” she said, “and to prepare, in
case you get a bad number, I have been to see your uncle Cardot. He is
very much pleased with you; and so delighted to know you are a second
clerk at twenty, and to hear of your successful examination at the
law-school, that he promised me the money for a substitute. Are not you
glad to think that your own good conduct has brought such reward? Though
you have some privations to bear, remember the happiness of being able,
five years from now, to buy a practice. And think, too, my dear little
kitten, how happy you make your mother.”
Oscar’s face, somewhat thinned by study, had acquired, through habits
of business, a serious expression. He had reached his full growth, his
beard was thriving; adolescence had given place to virility. The mother
could not refrain from admiring her son and kissing him, as she said:--
“Amuse yourself, my dear boy, but remember the advice of our good
Monsieur Godeschal. Ah! by the bye, I was nearly forgetting! Here’s a
present our friend Moreau sends you. See! what a pretty pocket-book.”
“And I want it, too; for the master gave me five hundred francs to get
that cursed judgment of Vandernesse versus Vandernesse, and I don’t want
to leave that sum of money in my room.”
“But, surely, you are not going to carry it with you!” exclaimed his
mother, in alarm. “Suppose you should lose a sum like that! Hadn’t you
better give it to Monsieur Godeschal for safe keeping?”
“Godeschal!” cried Oscar, who thought his mother’s suggestion excellent.
But Godeschal, who, like all clerks, has his time to himself on Sundays,
from ten to two o’clock, had already departed.
When his mother left him, Oscar went to lounge upon the boulevards until
it was time to go to Georges Marest’s breakfast. Why not display those
beautiful clothes which he wore with a pride and joy which all young
fellows who have been pinched for means in their youth will remember. A
pretty waistcoat with a blue ground and a palm-leaf pattern, a pair of
black cashmere trousers pleated, a black coat very well fitting, and a
cane with a gilt top, the cost of which he had saved himself, caused a
natural joy to the poor lad, who thought of his manner of dress on the
day of that journey to Presles, as the effect that Georges had then
produced upon him came back to his mind.
Oscar had before him the perspective of a day of happiness; he was
to see the gay world at last! Let us admit that a clerk deprived of
enjoyments, though longing for dissipation, was likely to let his
unchained senses drive the wise counsels of his mother and Godeschal
completely out of his mind. To the shame of youth let it be added that
good advice is never lacking to it. In the matter of Georges, Oscar
himself had a feeling of aversion for him; he felt humiliated before a
witness of that scene in the salon at Presles when Moreau had flung
him at the count’s feet. The moral senses have their laws, which are
implacable, and we are always punished for disregarding them. There is
one in particular, which the animals themselves obey without discussion,
and invariably; it is that which tells us to avoid those who have once
injured us, with or without intention, voluntarily or involuntarily. The
creature from whom we receive either damage or annoyance will always be
displeasing to us. Whatever may be his rank or the degree of affection
in which he stands to us, it is best to break away from him; for our
evil genius has sent him to us. Though the Christian sentiment is
opposed to it, obedience to this terrible law is essentially social and
conservative. The daughter of James II., who seated herself upon
her father’s throne, must have caused him many a wound before that
usurpation. Judas had certainly given some murderous blow to Jesus
before he betrayed him. We have within us an inward power of sight, an
eye of the soul which foresees catastrophes; and the repugnance that
comes over us against the fateful being is the result of that foresight.
Though religion orders us to conquer it, distrust remains, and its voice
is forever heard. Would Oscar, at twenty years of age, have the wisdom
to listen to it?
Alas! when, at half-past two o’clock, Oscar entered the salon of the
Rocher de Cancale,--where were three invited persons besides the clerks,
to wit: an old captain of dragoons, named Giroudeau; Finot, a journalist
who might procure an engagement for Florentine at the Opera, and du
Bruel, an author, the friend of Tullia, one of Mariette’s rivals,--the
second clerk felt his secret hostility vanish at the first handshaking,
the first dashes of conversation as they sat around a table luxuriously
served. Georges, moreover, made himself charming to Oscar.
“You’ve taken to private diplomacy,” he said; “for what difference is
there between a lawyer and an ambassador? only that between a nation and
an individual. Ambassadors are the attorneys of Peoples. If I can ever
be useful to you, let me know.”
“Well,” said Oscar, “I’ll admit to you now that you once did me a very
great harm.”
“Pooh!” said Georges, after listening to the explanation for which
he asked; “it was Monsieur de Serizy who behaved badly. His wife!
I wouldn’t have her at any price; neither would I like to be in the
count’s red skin, minister of State and peer of France as he is. He has
a small mind, and I don’t care a fig for him now.”
Oscar listened with true pleasure to these slurs on the count, for they
diminished, in a way, the importance of his fault; and he echoed the
spiteful language of the ex-notary, who amused himself by predicting
the blows to the nobility of which the bourgeoisie were already
dreaming,--blows which were destined to become a reality in 1830.
At half-past three the solid eating of the feast began; the dessert did
not appear till eight o’clock,--each course having taken two hours to
serve. None but clerks can eat like that! The stomachs of eighteen and
twenty are inexplicable to the medical art. The wines were worthy of
Borrel, who in those days had superseded the illustrious Balaine, the
creator of the first restaurant for delicate and perfectly prepared food
in Paris,--that is to say, the whole world.
The report of this Belshazzar’s feast for the architriclino-basochien
register was duly drawn up, beginning, “Inter pocula aurea restauranti,
qui vulgo dicitur Rupes Cancali.” Every one can imagine the fine page
now added to the Golden Book of jurisprudential festivals.
Godeschal disappeared after signing the report, leaving the eleven
guests, stimulated by the old captain of the Imperial Guard, to the
wines, toasts, and liqueurs of a dessert composed of choice and early
fruits, in pyramids that rivalled the obelisk of Thebes. By half-past
ten the little sub-clerk was in such a state that Georges packed him
into a coach, paid his fare, and gave the address of his mother to the
driver. The remaining ten, all as drunk as Pitt and Dundas, talked of
going on foot along the boulevards, considering the fine evening, to
the house of the Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos, where, about
midnight, they might expect to find the most brilliant society of Paris.
They felt the need of breathing the pure air into their lungs; but,
with the exception of Georges, Giroudeau, du Bruel, and Finot, all
four accustomed to Parisian orgies, not one of the party could walk.
Consequently, Georges sent to a livery-stable for three open carriages,
in which he drove his company for an hour round the exterior boulevards
from Monmartre to the Barriere du Trone. They returned by Bercy, the
quays, and the boulevards to the rue de Vendome.
The clerks were fluttering still in the skies of fancy to which youth
is lifted by intoxication, when their amphitryon introduced them into
Florentine’s salon. There sparkled a bevy of stage princesses, who,
having been informed, no doubt, of Frederic’s joke, were amusing
themselves by imitating the women of good society. They were then
engaged in eating ices. The wax-candles flamed in the candelabra.
Tullia’s footmen and those of Madame du Val-Noble and Florine, all in
full livery, where serving the dainties on silver salvers. The hangings,
a marvel of Lyonnaise workmanship, fastened by gold cords, dazzled
all eyes. The flowers of the carpet were like a garden. The richest
“bibelots” and curiosities danced before the eyes of the new-comers.
At first, and in the state to which Georges had brought them, the
clerks, and more particularly Oscar, believed in the Marquise de las
Florentinas y Cabirolos. Gold glittered on four card-tables in the
bed-chamber. In the salon, the women were playing at vingt-et-un, kept
by Nathan, the celebrated author.
After wandering, tipsy and half asleep, through the dark exterior
boulevards, the clerks now felt that they had wakened in the palace
of Armida. Oscar, presented to the marquise by Georges, was quite
stupefied, and did not recognize the danseuse he had seen at the Gaiete,
in this lady, aristocratically decolletee and swathed in laces, till she
looked like the vignette of a keepsake, who received him with manners
and graces the like of which was neither in the memory nor the
imagination of a young clerk rigidly brought up. After admiring the
splendors of the apartment and the beautiful women there displayed, who
had all outdone each other in their dress for this occasion, Oscar was
taken by the hand and led by Florentine to a vingt-et-un table.
“Let me present you,” she said, “to the beautiful Marquise d’Anglade,
one of my nearest friends.”
And she took Oscar to the pretty Fanny Beaupre, who had just made
herself a reputation at the Porte-Saint-Martin, in a melodrama entitled
“La Famille d’Anglade.”
“My dear,” said Florentine, “allow me to present to you a charming
youth, whom you can take as a partner in the game.”
“Ah! that will be delightful,” replied the actress, smiling, as she
looked at Oscar. “I am losing. Shall we go shares, monsieur?”
“Madame la marquise, I am at your orders,” said Oscar, sitting down
beside her.
“Put down the money; I’ll play; you shall being me luck! See, here are
my last hundred francs.”
And the “marquise” took out from her purse, the rings of which were
adorned with diamonds, five gold pieces. Oscar pulled out his hundred in
silver five-franc pieces, much ashamed at having to mingle such ignoble
coins with gold. In ten throws the actress lost the two hundred francs.
“Oh! how stupid!” she cried. “I’m banker now. But we’ll play together
still, won’t we?”
Fanny Beaupre rose to take her place as banker, and Oscar, finding
himself observed by the whole table, dared not retire on the ground that
he had no money. Speech failed him, and his tongue clove to the roof of
his mouth.
“Lend me five hundred francs,” said the actress to the danseuse.
Florentine brought the money, which she obtained from Georges, who had
just passed eight times at ecarte.
“Nathan has won twelve hundred francs,” said the actress to Oscar.
“Bankers always win; we won’t let them fool us, will we?” she whispered
in his ear.
Persons of nerve, imagination, and dash will understand how it was that
poor Oscar opened his pocket-book and took out the note of five
hundred francs which Desroches had given him. He looked at Nathan, the
distinguished author, who now began, with Florine, to play a heavy game
against the bank.
“Come, my little man, take ‘em up,” cried Fanny Beaupre, signing to
Oscar to rake in the two hundred francs which Nathan and Florine had
punted.
The actress did not spare taunts or jests on those who lost. She
enlivened the game with jokes which Oscar thought singular; but
reflection was stifled by joy; for the first two throws produced a
gain of two thousand francs. Oscar then thought of feigning illness and
making his escape, leaving his partner behind him; but “honor” kept him
there. Three more turns and the gains were lost. Oscar felt a cold sweat
running down his back, and he was sobered completely.
The next two throws carried off the thousand francs of their mutual
stake. Oscar was consumed with thirst, and drank three glasses of iced
punch one after the other. The actress now led him into the bed-chamber,
where the rest of the company were playing, talking frivolities with an
easy air. But by this time the sense of his wrong-doing overcame him;
the figure of Desroches appeared to him like a vision. He turned aside
to a dark corner and sat down, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, and
wept. Florentine noticed the attitude of true grief, which, because it
is sincere, is certain to strike the eye of one who acts. She ran to
him, took the handkerchief from his hand, and saw his tears; then she
led him into a boudoir alone.
“What is it, my child?” she said.
At the tone and accent of that voice Oscar recognized a motherly
kindness which is often found in women of her kind, and he answered
openly:--
“I have lost five hundred francs which my employer gave me to obtain a
document to-morrow morning; there’s nothing for me but to fling myself
into the river; I am dishonored.”
“How silly you are!” she said. “Stay where you are; I’ll get you a
thousand francs and you can win back what you’ve lost; but don’t risk
more than five hundred, so that you may be sure of your master’s money.
Georges plays a fine game at ecarte; bet on him.”
Oscar, frightened by his position, accepted the offer of the mistress of
the house.
“Ah!” he thought, “it is only women of rank who are capable of such
kindness. Beautiful, noble, rich! how lucky Georges is!”
He received the thousand francs from Florentine and returned to bet on
his hoaxer. Georges had just passed for the fourth time when Oscar sat
down beside him. The other players saw with satisfaction the arrival of
a new better; for all, with the instinct of gamblers, took the side of
Giroudeau, the old officer of the Empire.
“Messieurs,” said Georges, “you’ll be punished for deserting me; I feel
in the vein. Come, Oscar, we’ll make an end of them!”
Georges and his partner lost five games running. After losing the
thousand francs Oscar was seized with the fury of play and insisted on
taking the cards himself. By the result of a chance not at all uncommon
with those who play for the first time, he won. But Georges bewildered
him with advice; told him when to throw the cards, and even snatched
them from his hand; so that this conflict of wills and intuitions
injured his vein. By three o’clock in the morning, after various changes
of fortune, and still drinking punch, Oscar came down to his last
hundred francs. He rose with a heavy head, completely stupefied, took a
few steps forward, and fell upon a sofa in the boudoir, his eyes closing
in a leaden sleep.
“Mariette,” said Fanny Beaupre to Godeschal’s sister, who had come in
about two o’clock, “do you dine here to-morrow? Camusot and Pere Cardot
are coming, and we’ll have some fun.”
“What!” cried Florentine, “and my old fellow never told me!”
“He said he’d tell you to-morrow morning,” remarked Fanny Beaupre.
“The devil take him and his orgies!” exclaimed Florentine. “He and
Camusot are worse than magistrates or stage-managers. But we have very
good dinners here, Mariette,” she continued. “Cardot always orders them
from Chevet’s; bring your Duc de Maufrigneuse and we’ll make them dance
like Tritons.”
Hearing the names of Cardot and Camusot, Oscar made an effort to throw
off his sleep; but he could only mutter a few words which were not
understood, and then he fell back upon the silken cushions.
“You’ll have to keep him here all night,” said Fanny Beaupre, laughing,
to Florentine.
“Oh! poor boy! he is drunk with punch and despair both. It is the second
clerk in your brother’s office,” she said to Mariette. “He has lost
the money his master gave him for some legal affair. He wanted to drown
himself; so I lent him a thousand francs, but those brigands Finot and
Giroudeau won them from him. Poor innocent!”
“But we ought to wake him,” said Mariette. “My brother won’t make light
of it, nor his master either.”
“Oh, wake him if you can, and carry him off with you!” said Florentine,
returning to the salon to receive the adieux of some departing guests.
Presently those who remained began what was called “character dancing,”
and by the time it was broad daylight, Florentine, tired out, went to
bed, oblivious to Oscar, who was still in the boudoir sound asleep.