"Why certainly."
"Well, for such a marriage--ah, my dear fellow, you sail to-morrow at
what time?"
"At two o'clock."
"Oh, we have plenty of time, then; all will be settled by two o'clock."
"Oh, settled; you're crazy!"
"Not at all; it's already very far advanced, since it's papa's Number
Three. I only ask one thing of you: present me to the mother shortly.
After that let me alone. I'll manage everything; only, at any cost, we
must leave our car and find two arm-chairs in the same car, and near my
mother-in-law."
"Your mother-in-law!"
"That's what I said; my mother-in-law. Once the two arm-chairs are
procured, I am master of the situation. You don't know me. I already
know what I shall say to the mother, what I shall say to my young
brother-in-law (he is very nice), and what I shall say to my future
bride. I shall have made a conquest of all of them before we reach
Lyons. Lyons? No; that's going a little fast--say Valence or Montélimar.
Pass me the time-table again. Let us settle everything, and leave
nothing to chance. Oh, look at her! She has nibbled nuts for the last
fifteen minutes, and how she cracks them--crack! one little bite--and
what pretty little teeth! She is very pretty even while eating--an
important thing. It's very rare to find women who remain pretty while
eating and sleeping, very rare. Little Adelaide, the red-headed one, you
remember, ate stupidly. And this one over there eats brightly; she
eats--crack! another nut--and she looks at me on the sly. I can see that
she looks at me. All goes well, all goes well!"
In truth, all did go well. At Montbard, 12.32, Raoul was presented to
Mme. Derame, who, on hearing the name of Chamblard, had a little
shiver--the shiver of a mother who has a young daughter to marry, and
who says to herself, "Oh, what a splendid match!" Her husband had often
spoken to her of young Chamblard.
"Ah," he used to say to her, "what a marriage for Martha! We speak of it
sometimes before and after our piquet, Chamblard and I; but the young
man is restive--doesn't yet wish to settle down. It would be such a good
thing--he is richer than we. Chamblard is once, twice, three times
richer! And Martha isn't easy to marry; she has already refused five or
six desirable matches on all sorts of pretexts. They didn't please her:
they were too old, they had no style, they didn't live in fashionable
neighborhoods, she didn't wish to go into sugar, or cotton, or wine--or
anything, in short. She would accept none other than a young husband,
and not too serious. She must have a very rich man who did nothing and
loved pleasure."
How well young Chamblard answered to that description! When there was
question of doing nothing, Raoul showed real talent. As soon as one
talked horses, dogs, carriages, hats, dresses, jewelry, races, fencing,
skating, cooking, etc., he showed signs of the rarest and highest
competence.
So, as there was general conversation, Raoul was very brilliant. In the
neighborhood of Châlons-sur-Saône (3.10), while relating how he,
Chamblard, had invented a marvellous little coupé, he did not say that:
that coupé had been offered by him to Mlle. Juliette Lorphelin, of the
ballet corps at the Folies-Bergère. This coupé was a marvel; besides, it
was very well known; it was called the Chamblard coupé.
"Small," he said, "very small. A coupé ought always to be small." But
what a lot of things in such a small space: a drawer for toilet
necessaries, a secret box for money and jewelry, a clock, a thermometer,
a barometer, a writing-shelf--and that was not all!
He became animated, and grew excited in speaking of his invention.
Martha listened to him eagerly.
"When you pull up the four wooden shutters you naturally find yourself
in the dark; but the four shutters are mirrors, and as soon as one has
placed a finger on a little button hidden under the right-hand cushion,
six little crystal balls, ingeniously scattered in the tufting of the
blue satin of the coupé, become electric lights. The coupé is turned
into a little lighted boudoir; and not only for five minutes--no, but
for an hour, two hours, if one wishes it; there is a storage-battery
under the seat. When I submitted this idea to my carriage-maker he was
smitten with envy and admiration."
Martha, too, was smitten.
"What a charming man!" she said to herself. "Oh, to have such a coupé!
But pearl-gray--I should want it pearl-gray."
Then they discussed jewelry, dresses, hats, stuffs. And Raoul proved on
all those questions, if possible, more remarkable than ever. He had paid
so many bills to great dress-makers, great milliners, and great
jewellers! He had been present at so many conferences on the cut of such
a dress or the arrangement of such a costume, at so many scenes of
trying on and draping! And as he drew easily, he willingly threw his
ideas on paper, as he said, neatly. He had even designed the costumes of
a little piece--played in I do not know what little theatre--which was
revolutionary, anarchistic, symbolistic, decadent, end of the century,
end of the world.
He took his little note-book and began to outline with a light hand, in
spite of the movement of the train, several of his creations. He had
tact, and thought of everything. "It was," he said, "for charades played
in society at my friend's, the baron so and so." He invented the baron,
and gave him a resonant name.
Martha was delighted. Never had a man, since she had been allowed to
chat a little with young men, seemed to her to have such an original and
interesting conversation.
"Lately," said Raoul, "one of my cousins--she often applies to
me--consulted me about a dress for a ball at Nice, during the carnival.
This is what I advised her. See, I draw at the same time--look."
Oh, how she did look!
"I am going to try to make myself well understood. A foundation of
smooth white satin, clinging, very clinging--blue, I adore blue."
That pained her; she disliked blue.
"Yes, very clinging; my cousin has a delightful figure, and can stand
it."
He took Martha's figure in with a hasty glance, and the glance seemed to
say, "You could, too." She understood and blushed, charmed with that
delicate flattery. Raoul continued:
"Pale, very pale blue satin. Then on my foundation I threw an
over-dress of pompadour lace of very soft tones: greens, pinks, mauves,
cream, and azure. Very large sleeves with a double puff of blue velvet,
wristlets of Venetian point. Am I clear?"
"Oh, very clear, very clear."
And in an excited voice she repeated:
"A double puff of blue velvet, with wristlets of Venetian point."
All of a sudden the brakes scraped, and the train came sharply to a
stop. One heard the cry of "Mâcon! Mâcon!"
"Mâcon already!" said Martha.
That "_already_" rang delightfully in Raoul's ears. There was much in
that _already_. Raoul profited by the five minutes' stop to complete and
fix his little sketch, which was slightly jolted; and he did not notice
that his young brother-in-law had been sent out with a despatch to the
telegraph-office. The despatch had been secretly written by Mme. Derame,
and had, too, been directed to the Old Club.
The train started--4.11. Raoul had not thought to get down to see if
under the railing there was not a despatch addressed to him. There was
one, which was to remain eternally at Mâcon. The telegram contained
these words: "Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage."
The train ran on and on, and now there was question of another dress--a
silk dress, light pink, with a large jabot of lace down the front. Raoul
literally dazzled Martha by his inexhaustible fertility of wise
expressions and technical terms.
* * * * *
While the express passed the Romanèche station (4.32) father Chamblard
came into the Old Club, went into the card-room, and met father Derame.
Piquet? With pleasure. So there they sat, face to face. There were there
eight or ten card-tables--piquet, bezique, whist, etc. The works were in
full blast. First game, and papa Derame is rubiconed; the second game
was going to begin when a footman arrives with a despatch for M.
Chamblard.
"Will you excuse me?"
"Certainly."
He reads, he becomes red; he rereads, and he gets scarlet.
It was Raoul's brilliant telegram from Dijon:
"Dear father, I shall not go. Most extraordinary meeting. Your Number
Three--yes, your Number Three--in the train with her mother, and I
wouldn't see her. Ah! if I had known. Strike while the iron's hot; I'm
striking it, strike it too. M. D. must be at the club, speak to him at
once; tell him that I left to avoid marrying an ugly woman; that I only
wish to make a love-match; that I am head-over-heels in love with his
daughter. We shall all be to-night at Marseilles, Hôtel de Noailles. Get
M. D. to back me up by telegraph to Mme. D. I will talk with you
to-morrow over the telephone. I am writing my telegram in the
dining-car. At this moment she is nibbling nuts--charming, she is
charming! She fell into my arms on the platform. Till to-morrow at the
telephone, nine o'clock."