At the corner of the rue Baba stands the Maison Séverin, with its board
announcing furnished flats to let. One December evening a journalist
went to call upon a colleague there. As he climbed the last flight
of stairs, a door was opened violently and a gesticulating female
appeared. She shrieked defiance over her shoulder, pulled down her
sleeves, and descended with such precipitance that she nearly butted
Jobic over the banisters.
Dodging her by a miracle, Jobic entered unannounced.
"Your domestic seems to be perturbed, my dear Pariset," he remarked.
"Tiens, you?" said the young widower, panting. "Yes, she has 'returned
her apron,' she has resigned the situation, that devil--a situation
that offered unsurpassed opportunities for pillage. I am left with the
dinner unprepared, and the twins to put to bed--and I ought to be at
Batignolles by eight o'clock!"
"You should marry again," said Jobic.
"I cannot do it in the time. Mon Dieu, just because I mentioned that it
was unintelligent of her always to keep the empty wine bottles among
the full ones! It took me a quarter of an hour to get hold of anything
to drink. You may tell a bonne that she is an inveterate liar without
disturbing her in the least; you may say that she is an habitual thief,
and she will accept the truism placidly; but insinuate that she is a
fool, and her vanity is in arms at once! What has brought you here?"
"I come to borrow a louis."
"Visionary!"
"Spendthrift! What do you do with your salary, then? The fact is, your
rent is an extravagance, and you spend far too much in dressing up your
babies; for some time I have had the intention of remonstrating with
you on the subject. If you exercised reasonable economy you would be in
a position to lend me a louis on your head."
"I am. But the monotonous fatigues me. To attain the charm of variety
I propose to lend you nothing at all. I tell you what, however--I can
provide you with a job."
"For putting twins to bed my lowest figure is five francs. I will cook
the dinner for forty sous, and an invitation to share it."
"The tenders are declined. Listen; you may go to Batignolles and write
a column around a communist meeting for me. The kiddies are too young
for me to leave them by themselves, and I have been counting on this
affair to supply material for my causerie in to-morrow's _Echo_."
"Communist meeting?" exclaimed Jobic, with distaste; "I do not believe
I could borrow any more money under communism than I can now."
"Are we discussing your beliefs? Has your welfare the remotest interest
for me? All I ask of you is to fill a column. Bring the stuff for me to
sign before you sleep, and I will pay you your own price for it."
"Cash?"
"Cash."
"It's a deal," said Jobic. "Some sprightly copy is as good as on your
desk. Your editor will not fail to note a vast improvement in your
literary style."
It was in these circumstances that _L'Echo du Quartier_ contained a
column, over Pariset's pen name of "Valentin Vance," that drove the
prettiest communist in Paris to tears of fury. For not only did the
writer burlesque her impassioned speech, not only did he poke fun at
her theories, and deride her elocution--he actually made unflattering
comments upon her personal appearance.
Not since she embraced the Cause six months ago had Suzanne Duvivier
read anything to compare with it.
"If I were a married woman," she raged, "my husband should call the
monster out for such insults!" And then, since she was an accomplished
pupil at one of the best-known salles for instructing the fair
Parisienne to fence, it occurred to her that the lack of a husband was
no drawback.
Though there were pressing domestic matters to claim her this morning,
she betook herself to kindred spirits, and burst in upon them to demand
their services.
"Mais, ma chère," gasped mademoiselle Tisserand and mademoiselle
Lagarde, "we have never acted as seconds in a duel, never! We implore
you to dismiss the notion; we counsel you to treat the abuse with the
silent scorn that it deserves. The man might run you through your
valiant heart."
"Do we shirk danger, we communists?" cried Suzanne.
"Dear comrade, the Cause cannot spare you. Moreover, every novel with
a duel in it that we have ever read makes it clear that it is the
privilege of the party challenged to choose the weapons. This monsieur
Vance might choose pistols. The novels, again, indicate that it
devolves upon the seconds to load the pistols, and we have never done
such a thing in our lives. It may also be that you have never handled
one yourself?"
For a moment Suzanne Duvivier quailed--she was only twenty-five, and
normally no swash-buckler. If monsieur Vance did choose pistols, she
knew very well she would have to shut her eyes as she fired. Then the
obloquy of the column overwhelmed her anew, and she flung timidity to
the winds.
"We must hope for the best, girls," she said, resolutely. "If you are
my pals you will not desert me in this hour. I fight for the Cause
far more than for myself. I do not know precisely what phrases you
should employ--consult the novels!--but the first thing to be done is
for you to present yourselves to the man and desire him to name the
day. You had better not say 'name the day,' because that has another
association, but he must fix the date. If you can contrive to suggest
that I hanker after pistols, perhaps he will say 'swords.' Au revoir,
my friends. Bear yourselves firmly--look as if you were used to it.
Wear serious hats."
She departed to put in half an hour's practice at the fencing school,
and mademoiselle Lagarde moaned to mademoiselle Tisserand, "It is
terrible, is it not? However, we need not make frumps of ourselves, I
suppose. I wonder if my toque would be inappropriate?"
"Not the least in the world," said mademoiselle Tisserand. "What do
you think of my hat with the bird of paradise? She is right as regards
our demeanour, though--we must be deadly calm. Let us remember that
the dignity of communism is at stake. The brute must not be allowed to
guess that we are afraid."
A couple of hours later, Pariset, after struggling with a fire that
refused to be lit, and breakfasting without any coffee, and dressing
his twins with some of their underlinen back in front, gave the
concierge a tip to let him leave them in her loge, and went forth to
the _Echo_ building, anathematising his ex-domestic with continuous
fervour on the way. Arrived there, he found two young women strenuously
inquiring for the address of "monsieur Valentin Vance."
"You behold him, mesdemoiselles," said Pariset. "What can I have the
honour of doing for you?"
The young women looked embarrassed.
"It is you who are the author of this article, monsieur--this infamous
calumny?" queried the plumper of the two.
"Oh!" exclaimed Pariset, taken aback. "Oh ... I am speaking to
mademoiselle Suzanne Duvivier?"
"No, monsieur, I am not mademoiselle Duvivier. Neither of us is
mademoiselle Duvivier. But we inquire if you are the monsieur Vance who
is the author of this article?"
"Well--er--yes, certainly, I am the author of it."
The pair conferred a moment in undertones. The one in the toque gave
the one with the bird of paradise a slight push.
"Then, monsieur, I have the honour to inform you that we are the
bearers of a challenge from the lady you have slandered."
"A challenge?" stammered Pariset. "What do you say? Is this a joke?"
"You will find it very far from a joke," put in mademoiselle Lagarde,
strategically; "our principal is a crack shot."
"In that case you may be sure I shall not choose pistols," said Pariset
with a smile.
"Ah!" breathed the girl, dissembling her elation. "You choose swords.
No matter."
"No," demurred Pariset. "I do not choose swords, either."
"But--not swords, either? What, then?"
"I choose roses. I am a champion with roses, and I have the right to
avail myself of my skill."
"Monsieur," cried her companion, peremptorily, "we shall not be patient
with pleasantries!"
"Nor I with hysteria, mademoiselle. _Comment?_ Do you figure yourself I
am going to fight a woman? You must be demented."
"You refuse to meet her?"
"Point-blank."
"On the pretext of convention?"
"On the score of manhood."
"Your manhood did not restrain you from attacking her."
"Was it so bad, the attack?" faltered Pariset, who had not done much
more than glance at Jobic's masterpiece.
"Pshaw!" sneered both the girls, as nearly as their ejaculation can be
spelt. "Shame! How perfectly disgusting! You insult a lady, and then
refuse her satisfaction. It is the act of a coward. Ah! Oh!"
"Listen!" volleyed Pariset. "I will not meet her if you go on saying
'Ah! 'and 'Oh!' till you are black in the face. But, to cut it short,
she shall have her satisfaction. I will cross swords with any man
that she appoints as her deputy. All is said. I await the gentleman's
representatives. Mesdemoiselles, bonjour."
"And now I have got a duel on my hands, as well as two babies in my
arms!" he reflected. "Jobic is an imbecile. Why did I trust him? That
sacrée bonne! her desertion is giving me a fine time. I should like to
wring her neck." He spent a feverish afternoon at registry offices.
Suzanne was exasperated too. The news of the demand for a deputy was
a heavy blow, for she couldn't think of anybody likely to oblige her.
Vainly she reviewed the list of her male acquaintances; none seemed to
possess all the necessary qualities. Ineligible herself, and unable to
find a substitute--what a dilemma! The more provoking because scattered
throughout France must breathe several heroic spirits who would have
been willing to fight for a nice girl and the guerdon of her gratitude.
But she was reluctant to advertise "Duellist wanted," with a portrait
of her attractions.
She was removing on the morrow to a furnished flat, and it had been her
intention to supervise the removal of some of its dust this morning.
Late in the afternoon she ran round to see how matters had progressed
without her. A damsel from a registry office in the quarter had
undertaken to commence the work punctually at 8 a.m. The flat was in
the Maison Séverin. All unconscious that she was to dwell beneath the
same roof as the villain she had challenged, Suzanne ascended, sanguine
of seeing the clean curtains up.
The damsel hadn't put in an appearance. Either she had received an
offer more to her taste, or she had decided to prolong her vacation;
there had been no message to explain her caprice.
Suzanne sped to the registry office tumultuously.
The _Bureau de Placement des Deux Sexes_ was presided over by a very
large woman at a very small table. Three of the four employers present
were excited ladies, complaining of bonnes who had arranged to take
service with them, but who had neither arrived nor written. The fourth
was a personable gentleman, awaiting his turn in an attitude of the
deepest despondence. Suzanne sat on the bench, by the gentleman's side,
while the fat woman strove to appease the three ladies.
"Next, please," she said, eventually. "Monsieur desires?"
Suzanne heard that monsieur desired a capable bonne a tout faire at
once, and that by "at once" he did not mean a fortnight hence, or even
the following day--he meant "now."
The proprietress said mechanically that she would see what could be
done, and asked for five francs.
"Don't you believe it!" said the gentleman, "am a widower and know
the ropes--I might part with five francs and remain servantless for a
month. Produce a servant. Trot one of your treasures out. Let me get a
grip of it and take it away with me, and I will pay you ten--fifteen
francs."
"But it happens that there is no servant on the premises this
afternoon. Monsieur is not reasonable. He should comprehend that I
cannot show him what I have not got."
"It is equally comprehensible, madame, that I cannot pay for what I do
not see."
"Next, please," said the fat woman, shrugging her shoulders.
"Madame," began Suzanne, vehemently, "I must ask you to find another
femme-de-ménage for me immediately, if you please--your Angélique that
I settled with here has never turned up!"
"There you are!" cried Pariset. "Everybody says the same thing."
"Mais, monsieur!" snorted the proprietress. "Your affair is
finished--the business of mademoiselle does not concern you."
"Pardon, madame, my affair is not finished; on the contrary, my need is
dire. I have offspring who clamour for female ministrations, voyons.
Mademoiselle will accept my apologies?"
"They are superfluous, monsieur," said Suzanne, acknowledging his bow.
"But, madame, my case is urgent! I go into my new appartement in the
morning, and there is nobody there yet to shake a mat or light a fire."
"And what a job it is to light a fire!" put in Pariset, with fellow
feeling.
"The life they lead us, these bonnes!" responded Suzanne.
"Above all, mademoiselle, when one has two little children and is
without experience. Figure yourself my confusion!"
"Dreadful, monsieur! I can imagine it."
"What do you expect me to say to you, you two?" shouted the fat woman,
banging the table. "I tell you that there is no bonne waiting just
now. Am I le bon Dieu to create model domestics out of the dust on the
office floor?"
And at this instant the door opened, and there entered briskly a comely
wench, wearing an apron, and no hat.
"Ah!" gasped Pariset and Suzanne together.
"Ah!" exclaimed the fat woman, jubilant. "Everything arranges itself!
Now I know this one. I recommend her. You can take a place to-day,
Marceline? Good! It is forty francs a month, as usual, and you sleep
in, hein?"
"Fifty. And I sleep out--with my aunt," said Marceline, promptly,
seizing the circumstances.
"I agree," announced the eager clients, in a duet.
"Mais, monsieur----" remonstrated Suzanne, dismayed.
"Mais, mademoiselle----" expostulated Pariset.
"Enfin, take her! I yield her to you. My children pine for her care,
but we will suffer!"
"I am averse from appearing selfish, monsieur----"
"Ah, chivalry forbids that I wrench this unique boon from your arms,
mademoiselle."
"No! She is for monsieur," said Suzanne, in a burst of magnanimity.