not even the memory of his follies! that is perfectly absurd. But if you
are afraid that you are not yet sufficiently enterprising with a great
lady, why, my friend, make a beginning with grisettes and actresses. I
assure you they will train you quite as well.”
“Yes, I thought of that at first; and last week, happening to meet
Malvina--you know, that lively little ballet girl?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I spoke to her. At first she called me Monsieur Jack Frost; but
when I told her that I wasn’t as cold as she thought, she said: ‘To make
me believe that, you must prove it.’ And she invited me again to
breakfast with her--at six o’clock in the morning--and we appointed a
day.”
“Good! that is excellent!”
“Oh, yes! but the day came long ago, and I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because I reflected that I had no more love for Malvina than for the
others, and that I should no doubt make as big a fool of myself with her
as I had done at my previous tête-à-têtes.”
“You were altogether wrong! your reasoning is ridiculous! The idea of
reflecting about an amourette, a passing fancy! But stay--didn’t you
tell me once of a grisette, a girl who worked in a linen-draper’s shop
near by, and who used to ogle you? she even told you her name, I
believe.”
“Yes, my friend, that was little Célanire, with the fair hair and the
nose _à la Roxelane_.”
“Well, there’s your chance; ask Mademoiselle Célanire for a rendezvous.
Judging from what you have told me, she won’t refuse you.”
“That is what I did, my friend. The day before yesterday I saw the young
grisette in the street; when she found that I was walking behind her,
she pretended to make a misstep; then she stopped and clung to me to
keep from falling.”
“That was very clever.”
“So I thought; after that, we talked, and finally she agreed to meet me
that evening on Boulevard du Château d’Eau, a long way from her quarter,
for the express purpose of not meeting people who might recognize her.”
“That was very prudent; grisettes think of everything. Well, how did
matters go at that meeting?”
“Mon Dieu! my friend, I didn’t go there either. As I was about to start,
I made the same reflections that I had made concerning the little
dancer. Then I was afraid and I stayed at home.”
“Oh! this is too much, my poor Chérubin! If you give way to such
terrors, there is no reason why you should not be bewildered by them all
your life! In old times, the old women would have said that someone had
cast a spell on you, and they would have sent you to see some famous
exorcist. For, in the good old days, spells were cast and destroyed
frequently; indeed, it was not uncommon to see prosecutions based upon
such affairs, and to see the judges order an inspection, in order to
make the man prove his innocence, who attempted to make so many honest
people forfeit theirs. But those barbarous days have passed--for they
really deserve to be so called. Now, we know no better sorcerer than a
pretty woman to discover whether a man is in love or not. So that I
persist in referring you to such a one.”
Monfréville’s words did not console Chérubin in the least; he continued
in his state of depression and self torment; but one morning there came
to his mind a thought that roused and revivified him: he thought of
Gagny, of young Louise, of his kindhearted nurse, who loved him so
dearly; it occurred to him to revisit his childhood home. In his
melancholy and his ennui he remembered those who loved him; in the whirl
of dissipation he had forgotten them! Such cases are too common; they do
not speak well for our hearts, but why did Nature make us like that?
Chérubin said nothing to any of his household; he took neither Jasmin
nor Gérondif, but ordered his cabriolet, bade his little groom climb up
behind, and started, after obtaining minute directions as to the
shortest way to Gagny.
With a good horse it is not a long drive. Chérubin arrived at
Villemonble in a short time. His heart beat fast as he drove through the
village, for he recognized the country where his childhood had been
passed, and a large part of his adolescence. His heart was very full
when he spied the first houses of Gagny; he felt such a thrill of
pleasure, of happiness, as he had not known since he went to Paris, and
he was amazed that he could have allowed so long a time to elapse
without returning to the village.
He recognized the square, the guard house, and the steep street leading
to his nurse’s house; he urged his horse and drew rein at last in front
of Nicole’s door. It was only three years since he had left it, but it
seemed to him a century, and he scrutinized everything about him to see
if anything had changed.
He alighted from his carriage, crossed the yard where he had played so
often, and hastily entered the room on the ground floor, where the
family usually sat. Nicole was there, working, and Jacquinot asleep in a
chair; nothing was changed; one person only was missing.
Nicole raised her eyes, then gave a shout. She gazed earnestly at the
fashionably dressed young man who had entered the room; she was afraid
that she was mistaken, she dared not believe that it was Chérubin. But
he did not leave her long in uncertainty; he flew into her arms, crying:
“My nurse! my dear Nicole! Ah! how glad I am to see you again!”
“It’s him! it’s really him!” cried the peasant woman, who could hardly
speak, she was so overcome by joy. “He has come to see us, so he still
loves me, the dear boy! Forgive me for calling you that, monsieur le
marquis, but habit is stronger than I am.”
“Call me what you used to call me, dear Nicole. Do you suppose that that
offends me? On the contrary, I insist upon it, I demand it.”
“Oh! what joy!--Wake up, Jacquinot, my man, here’s our _fieu_ Chérubin
come back, and in our house again.”
Jacquinot rubbed his eyes and recognized the young marquis, but dared
not offer him his hand. But Chérubin warmly grasped the peasant’s rough
and calloused hand. He, in his delight, ran off, as his custom was, to
bring wine and glasses.
Chérubin seated himself beside Nicole; he kissed her again and again,
then glanced about the room and said:
“What a pity that someone is missing! If Louise were here, my happiness
would be complete. Is she still in Bretagne--a long way off? Doesn’t she
mean to return?”
“Oh, yes, my boy,” murmured the peasant woman with evident
embarrassment. “But you do still care for us a little bit, my dear
child, although you have got used to finer folks than we are?”
“Do I care for you! Indeed I do! I understand why you ask me that, dear
Nicole; I have been an ungrateful wretch, I have acted very badly. To
think of not coming once to embrace you in three years! Oh! that was
very wicked of me. I planned to do it very often, but one has so many
things to do in Paris! Society, and all the amusements that were so new
to me--it all bewildered me. You must try to forgive me.”
“Forgive him! How handsome he is! how handsome he is!”
“And then, it seems to me that if you had wanted to see me, there was
nothing to prevent your coming to Paris, to my house.--You know well
enough where it is.”
“Why, we did go there, my dear child, we went there twice, Louise and I.
We asked to see you, and the first time they told us that you were
travelling; the second, that you were at some château and would be away
a long while.”
“That is very strange! In the first place, it isn’t true; I have not
left Paris since I first went there, I have not travelled at all; and
then, I was never told that you came.”
“The idea! I told the concierge to tell you.”
“Ah! I will look into this, and I will find out why they presumed to
conceal your visits from me.”
“Bless me! that made Louise and me feel very bad, and we said: ‘As long
as he knows we’ve been to see him but couldn’t find him, and he don’t
come to see us, why, we mustn’t go again, because perhaps he don’t like
to have us come to his house in Paris.’”
“Not like it, my dear Nicole! The idea of thinking that of me! And poor
Louise too! But why did you send her to Bretagne, instead of keeping her
with you?”
“Louise in Bretagne!” exclaimed Jacquinot, who returned to the room just
then with a jug of wine and glasses. “What’s the sense of making up
stories like that to deceive my friend monsieur le marquis?”
“What! Louise is not in Bretagne!” cried Chérubin. “Why, Monsieur
Gérondif has been telling me that for two years. What is the meaning of
that lie?”
“Oh! dear me, my boy!” said Nicole, “I’ll tell you the whole story, for
I don’t like to lie! And then, the more I look at you, you look so good
and gentle, I can’t believe that you’ve got to be a rake, a seducer, as
Monsieur Gérondif told us!”
“I, a rake, a seducer! Why, that is not true, nurse, it is horribly
false! On the contrary, people laugh at me in Paris because they say I
am too bashful with the ladies. And to say that I am a rake! That is
abominable! And my tutor dared to say such things?”
“My dear child, I am going to tell you the whole truth. Monsieur
Gérondif, who came to see us often and seemed to admire Louise’s beauty,
came one day about nine or ten months ago, and offered the child a fine
place in Paris, which he said that you wanted her to take.”
“Ah! the liar!”
“Louise liked the idea of going to Paris, because she said that that
would bring her nearer to you, and she hoped to see you once in a
while.”
“Dear Louise!”
“So she accepted; but while she was packing her clothes, monsieur le
professeur whispered to me: ‘I am taking Louise away to remove her from
the designs of my pupil, who means to make her his mistress.’”
“What an outrage!”
“‘And if he comes here, make him believe that she’s been with a relation
of yours in Bretagne a long time.’”
Chérubin rose and paced the floor; he was so suffocated by wrath that he
could hardly speak.
“What a shameful thing! to say that of me! to invent such lies! But what
could his object have been? Do you know where he took Louise?”
“Oh! to some very fine folks, so he told us.”
“But who are they?”
“Bless me! I didn’t ask that, my dear child, because I had so much
confidence in the schoolmaster.”
“So you don’t know where Louise is? Oh! I will find out! I will make him
tell me!--I am dying with impatience; I wish I were in Paris
now.--Adieu! my dear Nicole! adieu, Jacquinot!”
“What, going already, my _fieu_? You have hardly got here!”
“And he hasn’t drunk a single glass!”
“I will come again, my friends, I will come again--but with Louise, whom
I am wild to find!--Ah! Monsieur Gérondif! you say that I am a rake! We
will see! They have all looked upon me as a child hitherto, but I’ll
show them that I am their master!”
Chérubin embraced Nicole, shook hands with Jacquinot, and, turning a
deaf ear to all that those good people said to pacify him, he returned
to his cabriolet, lashed his horse and drove rapidly back to Paris.
On reaching home, he at once summoned Monsieur Gérondif, Jasmin and the
concierge. From the tone in which he issued the order, and from the
expression of his face, the servants did not recognize their master,
ordinarily so mild and gentle. The groom went to call the tutor, who had
just finished dressing, although it was midday. He went down to his
pupil, thinking:
“Monsieur le marquis undoubtedly wishes me to teach him something.
Perhaps he wants to learn to write poetry. Mademoiselle Turlurette tells
everybody in the house that my verses are so fine! I will have him begin
with free verses; they are certainly easier to write, most assuredly.”
But on entering the apartment of the young marquis, whom he found pacing
the floor with an impatient and angry expression, the tutor became
anxious, and began to think that he had not been summoned to give
lessons in poetry. Jasmin, who did not know where he was, his master
was scowling so at him, stood motionless in a corner, whence he dared
not stir, and the concierge, who was fully as terrified as the others,
remained in the doorway, afraid to go in.
Chérubin addressed the latter first; he bade him come nearer, and said
to him:
“A short time after I first came to this house, a worthy countrywoman,
my nurse, came to see me, with a young girl. They came twice; they were
most anxious to see me; and you told them, the first time, that I was
travelling, and the second time, that I was at the château of one of my
friends. Why did you tell that falsehood? Who gave you leave to turn
away people who are dear to me and whom I should have been glad to see?
Answer me.”
The concierge hung his head and answered:
“Faith, monsieur, all I did was to follow the instructions Monsieur
Jasmin gave me; and I thought he was only carrying out monsieur’s
orders.”
“Ah! it was Jasmin who told you to say that, was it? Very well; you may
go; but henceforth take your orders from me alone.”
The concierge bowed and left the room, delighted that he had come off so
cheap.
Old Jasmin turned purple; he twisted his mouth, like a child about to
cry. Chérubin walked up to him and said in a tone in which there was
more reproach than anger:
“And so, Jasmin, it was you who ordered my dear Nicole and Louise to be
turned away? It was you who arranged matters so that the people who
brought me up must inevitably think me proud and unfeeling and
ungrateful!--Ah! that was very ill done of you--and I don’t recognize
your kind heart in that business.”
Jasmin drew his handkerchief and wept.
“You are right, monsieur!” he cried; “it was a shame, it was downright
folly, but it wasn’t my idea; I should never have thought of it. It was
your tutor who told me that we must prevent your seeing Nicole and
little Louise, because it would be very dangerous for you. As Monsieur
Gérondif is a scholar, I thought that he must be right, and I did what
he told me.”
While the old valet was speaking, Monsieur Gérondif scratched his nose
with all his might, as if to prepare for the attack that he was about to
undergo; and in fact it was to him that Chérubin turned after listening
to Jasmin, and there was the ring of righteous anger in his voice as he
cried:
“So all this comes from you, monsieur? I should have suspected as
much.--So it was dangerous for me to see the people from the village,
who love me like their own child!”
Monsieur Gérondif threw one of his legs back, puffed out his chest,
raised his head, and began with abundant assurance:
“Well, yes, my illustrious pupil! and I consider that I was right. _Non
est discipulus super magistrum._--Listen to my reasons: You left the
village and the fields with great regret; you might have been tempted to
return thither, and it was necessary to remove that temptation--always
in your interest. The _Sadder_, abridged from the _Zend_, which contains
all the tenets of the religion founded by Zoroaster, ordains that every
man must make a strict examination of his conscience at the end of each
day; and mine----”
“Oh! I am not talking about Zoroaster, monsieur! Was it in my interest
too, that, at the time of your last visit to the village, you told
Nicole that I had become a rake and a seducer in Paris; that I intended
to make Louise my mistress; and that it was absolutely necessary to find
a place for her in Paris, and to make me believe that she was in
Bretagne?”
Monsieur Gérondif was petrified; he could think of no quotations to
make; he hung his head and did not know which leg to stand on; while
Jasmin, when he heard what the tutor had said of his young master, ran
to the fireplace, seized the tongs, and prepared to strike Monsieur
Gérondif:
“You dare to tell such infamous lies about my master!” he exclaimed; “to
slander him like that! Let me thrash him, monsieur! I believe that I can
do that with as much force as I had at twenty years.”
But Chérubin stopped Jasmin, and said to the tutor:
“What were your reasons for lying so, monsieur?”
“To tell the truth, my noble pupil, I do not know;--a temporary
aberration, a----”
“Well, I shall find out later. But, first of all, where is Louise?”
“The young and interesting foundling?”
“Come, come, monsieur, answer me, and no more lies; where is Louise?”
“In an honorable family, I venture to flatter myself; I obtained her a
situation as lady’s maid with Madame de Noirmont.”
“A lady’s maid! my foster-sister! You have made my old playmate a lady’s
maid!--Ah! that’s an outrage!”
“The wages are good, and I thought that, as she has no fortune----”
“Hold your peace! Poor Louise! so this is the reward of your sworn
attachment to me!--But she shall not remain another day in that
position. Jasmin, call a cab at once, and you, monsieur, come with me.”
Monsieur Gérondif did not wait for the order to be repeated; he followed
Chérubin, who took his hat and hastened downstairs. Jasmin called a cab,
the young marquis stepped in, ordered Monsieur Gérondif to take his
place beside him and to give the driver Madame de Noirmont’s address.
The tutor obeyed and they drove away.
Chérubin did not open his mouth during the drive, and Gérondif did not
dare even to blow his nose. When the cab stopped in front of the
Noirmont mansion, Chérubin said to his tutor:
“It was you who brought Louise to this house; go now and find her. Say
to the persons in whose service she is that she is not to work any more,
that she has found a friend and protector; say whatever you choose, but
remember that you must bring me my friend and sister. As for her, simply
say to her that I am here, waiting for her, and I am perfectly sure that
she will instantly make her preparations to come to me. Go, monsieur; I
will stay here and wait.”
Monsieur Gérondif jumped out of the cab, blew his nose when he was on
the sidewalk, and entered the house at last, saying to himself:
“Let us do it, as there is no way to avoid it! The little one will not
be mine--unless, perhaps, later--no one knows. Perhaps he will endow
her, and I will imagine that she’s a widow.”
Chérubin counted the minutes after the tutor entered the house; he
leaned out of the cab door and did not take his eyes from the porte
cochère; for he momentarily expected Louise to appear, and that hope was
constantly disappointed. At last two persons left the house and came
toward him; they were Monsieur Gérondif and Comtois. The professor’s
face wore a most woebegone expression; he rolled his eyes wildly about
as he approached Chérubin: but the latter did not wait for him to speak.
“Louise!” he cried, “Louise! why hasn’t she come with you? Didn’t you
tell her that I was here?”
“No, my noble pupil,” replied Gérondif, with an air of desperation, “I
did not tell her, for I could not. If you knew!”
“I don’t want to know; I want Louise--I came here to get her. Why
doesn’t she come down? Do they refuse to let her go? In that case I will
go up myself----”
“Oh, no! nobody refuses anything; but she has gone already, and that is
why she doesn’t come down with us.”
“What do you say? Louise----”
“Has not been at Monsieur de Noirmont’s for four days; she went off one
morning, very early, before anyone in the house was up.”
“Ah! you are deceiving me!”
“No, my noble pupil; but as I thought that perhaps you would not believe
me, I requested Comtois, Monsieur de Noirmont’s confidential valet, to
come with me and confirm my story.--Speak, incorruptible Comtois; tell
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Comtois stepped toward Chérubin, and said, saluting him respectfully:
“Since Mademoiselle Louise has been in our family, we had never had
anything but praise for her behavior. Her modest manner, her sweetness
of disposition, won all our hearts. Mademoiselle Ernestine de Noirmont
treated her more as her friend than as her maid; madame was the only one
who, for some unknown reason, was a trifle harsh with Mademoiselle
Louise.--Well, last Friday, the day after a large dinner-party that we
gave here, the girl went away. She took nothing with her but a little
bundle containing her clothes--not another thing. Mademoiselle Ernestine
was terribly unhappy over her going; but we supposed that Louise had
decided to return to her province because she was disappointed that she
had not been able to win madame’s favor. That is the exact truth,
monsieur. However, if you will take the trouble to go upstairs, you can
see Mademoiselle Ernestine, or my master and mistress, who will tell you
just what I have told you.”
Chérubin did not deem it necessary to question Monsieur or Madame de
Noirmont; Comtois had no motive for lying to him, and in his eyes could
be read his personal regret for Louise’s departure.
“She must have returned to Gagny, beyond any question,” cried Gérondif,
scratching his nose.
“To Gagny!” exclaimed Chérubin, in despair; “why, I have just come from
there! You forget that I have been there this morning, that I am just
from Nicole’s house, and that Louise has not been seen there.”
“Perhaps you may have passed each other on the road.”
“Why, he says that it was four days ago that she left the house!--four
days, do you understand? What has become of her during all that time?
Does it take four days to travel four leagues?”
“Not usually--but, if she stopped often on the way.”
“Ah! it was you who induced Louise to leave the village, where she was
safe from all harm. It was you, monsieur, who brought her to Paris. But
remember that you must find Louise, that I must know where she is, what
has happened to her in the four days since she left this house; and if
she has met with any misfortune--then all my wrath will fall on you!”
Chérubin leaped into the cab, gave the driver Monfréville’s address, and
hastened to his friend. He longed to confide his troubles to him, for he
knew that his friendship would not fail him when he went to him to claim
his aid and support.
Monfréville was at home; when his young friend appeared, deeply moved
and intensely excited, he instantly questioned him concerning the cause
of his agitation. Chérubin told him all that he had done since morning:
his visit to the village, his conversation with Nicole and her
disclosures of Monsieur Gérondif’s conduct regarding Louise, and finally
the girl’s disappearance from the house in which she had taken service.
When he had finished his narrative, he cried:
“I must find Louise, my friend, I must find her, for I know now how
dearly I love her. Poor Louise, it was to be near me, it was in the hope
of seeing me, that she accepted that place in Paris. Nicole told me all,
for Louise still thought of me, she never let a day pass without
speaking of me, and I, like an ingrate, let three years pass without a
sign that I remembered her!”
“That is true,” said Monfréville, “and to-day you are in the depths of
despair because you don’t know what has become of her! But from all that
you tell me, it seems to me that this girl is worthy of your love, and
that it would be a great pity that she should fall into some trap, that
she should be victimized by some miserable villain. Is she pretty, did
you say?”
“She was lovely at fifteen, and Nicole told me that she had improved
every day.”
“The deuce! poor child! If she is very pretty and has lost her way in
Paris, it’s very dangerous. As for your tutor, there is a very natural
explanation of his conduct: he was in love with Louise, no doubt, and
deemed it prudent to keep you from seeing her, which was sure to happen
sooner or later. For a pedagogue, that was rather clever.”
“In love with Louise! the insolent old idiot!--But where shall I look
for poor Louise--where can I hope to find her now?”
“That will be rather difficult, perhaps; but rely upon me to help you,
to guide you in your search. You must set your servants at work; we will
not spare money, and that is a powerful auxiliary in all the emergencies
of life.”
Chérubin thanked his friend warmly for lending him his assistance, and
they began their search the same day.
While these things were taking place at Monfréville’s apartment,
Monsieur Gérondif stood in the street, as if turned to stone by his
pupil’s anger and threats. Comtois had long since returned to his duties
and the tutor was still in front of the porte cochère. He decided at
last to go his way, saying to himself:
“The Scripture says: ‘Seek and ye shall find.’ I am going to seek you,
Louise, but I probably shall not find you.”
XXVII
THE LITTLE DOG FANCIER
We left Louise at the moment when, in compliance with Madame de
Noirmont’s wishes, she left the house before anybody had risen.
Thus Louise found herself in the street at a very early hour. She had
her bundle of clothes under her arm, and in her breast that letter, of
such inestimable value, which would perhaps enable her to find her
father.
When she was at a sufficient distance from the house that she had left,
her first thought was to learn the name of the person to whom Madame de
Noirmont had sent her. She took out the letter and read this address:
“For Monsieur Edouard de Monfréville. To be delivered to him in person.”
“Monsieur de Monfréville,” said Louise; “I have never heard of that
gentleman. But Madame de Noirmont said that he was a great friend of
Chérubin, and that they would give me his address at Chérubin’s house.
So I will go there. Oh! I shall not ask to see him! I know that he no
longer cares for me, that he doesn’t choose to know me any more; and
besides, as he has three or four mistresses at once, why, I haven’t any
desire to see him either.”
The girl heaved a sigh as she spoke, for her heart was by no means in
accord with her words; but she started toward Faubourg Saint-Germain,
saying to herself:
“I must not think any more about my old playfellow; I will think only of
what Madame de Noirmont said to me last night.”
Louise at last reached the street on which the hôtel de Grandvilain
stood. When she realized that she was so near Chérubin’s abode, she
stopped and began to tremble:
“As Chérubin wouldn’t admit us,” she thought, “when I came with his dear
old nurse, perhaps they’ll shut the door in my face. They will think
that it is he whom I wish to see, and that will make him even more angry
with me. Oh dear! what am I to do?”
And instead of going toward the house, Louise retraced her steps,
walking very slowly. But in a moment she stopped again and said to
herself:
“But I must ascertain this Monsieur de Monfréville’s address! Suppose I
should wait until someone comes out of the house? Yes, I think that that
will be the better way. I shall not be so afraid to speak to someone in
the street. But it is still very early; people don’t get up at this time
in these fine houses. I will walk back and forth, and wait; there’s no
law against that, and, besides, not many people are passing yet. If I
should see him come out, I would hide so that he might not see me. But I
could look at him, at all events--and it is so long since I saw him!”
Louise had been walking the street for some time, looking in vain for
somebody to leave the house, when two persons came toward her from a
street near by. They were not arm in arm; indeed, one of them allowed
his companion to keep always a few steps in advance, as if a certain
residuum of respect kept him from putting himself on a level with the
other. The first wore a long coat lined with fur, very stylish and sadly
soiled, and a hat which was almost new, but which seemed to have
received a number of blows; he had a cigar in his mouth; the second wore
his huge umbrella hat and nut-colored box-coat, a pair of shockingly
dirty trousers, and boots which were not made for him and in which his
feet and legs seemed fairly to dance. In addition, he had a black eye
and a bruised nose.
Daréna and Poterne had passed the night at a party where they had played
cards until daylight, and had indulged in a fight before separating.
Daréna had chosen to pass through Chérubin’s street on his way home; he
always took that road by preference, a fancy which did not please
Poterne, who muttered as he followed him:
“If your former friend the young marquis should meet us, he might pay me
a few more compliments behind, and I can do without them.”
“Bah!” retorted Daréna, “you always look at the dark side. For my part,
I would like to meet Chérubin. I would go up to him with a laugh, and I
would say: ‘Who ever heard of friends falling out for a jest? I obtained
your introduction to a charming girl; instead of being a Pole, she was
an Alsatian, but what’s the difference? And, faith, it isn’t my fault
that you went to sleep in her company!’--I’ll bet that he would shake
hands with me, and all would be forgotten.”
“Hum! I don’t think it! If you knew how his friend Monfréville gave it
to you!”
“Ta! ta! mere empty words! nonsense! I am above all that!”
The two worthies were walking on when Poterne, spying Louise standing a
few steps from the hôtel de Grandvilain, upon which her eyes seemed to
be fixed, put his hand on Daréna’s arm, saying:
“Look--yonder, at the right.”
“Bigre! what a pretty girl! What in the devil is she doing there, in
rapt contemplation, before the door of Chérubin’s house? Do you know,
Poterne, that girl is perfectly bewitching! The more one looks at her,
the more charms one discovers.”
“Yes, and it’s not Parisian style; however, she’s something more than a
peasant. She has a bundle under her arm--do you suppose she has just
arrived from the provinces?”
“She is still staring at the house. I certainly must find out what she
is doing here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet, but I am a Frenchman, and a lady’s man before
everything; and I am bound to aid and protect the fair sex. Forward, and
you will see. Walk beside me, idiot!”
Daréna and Poterne crossed the street and walked toward Louise; when
they were near her, Daréna stopped and said in a loud tone:
“Monsieur Poterne, as we are passing through this street, suppose we
stop and bid our good friend, Marquis Chérubin de Grandvilain
good-morning? this is his house. You know that he is constantly asking
us to breakfast with him.”
Poterne enveloped himself closely in his box-coat and replied:
“It’s too early as yet; no one is up in the marquis’s house.”
These words were not lost on Louise, who started at the name of
Chérubin. She approached Daréna and said to him timidly:
“Excuse me, monsieur, but as you are a friend of Monsieur de
Grandvilain, who lives in this house, perhaps you know Monsieur de
Monfréville also?”
At that name Poterne made a wry face; but Daréna replied as amiably as
possible:
“Yes, my lovely maiden, I know Monfréville; indeed, I am intimately
acquainted with him. Have you business with him?”
“I have a letter for him, but I do not know his address, and I was told
that I could learn it at Monsieur Chérubin’s; but, although I know
Monsieur Chérubin, I dared not go into his house.”
“Ah! so you know my friend Chérubin, mademoiselle? In that case he must
have spoken to me about you, for I was his most intimate confidant.”
“Oh, no, monsieur!” replied Louise sadly, “he would never have spoken to
you about me, for he has forgotten me; he doesn’t want to see us again.
I am Louise, Monsieur Chérubin’s friend in childhood.”
“Young Louise!” cried Daréna; “who was with Chérubin, at his nurse
Nicole’s, at Gagny?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“You see that I am well informed, mademoiselle, that I did not deceive
you when I said that I was the marquis’s friend.”
“Oh, yes! I see that, monsieur.”
During this dialogue, Poterne sauntered up to Daréna and whispered:
“There’s a chance to make a turn here.”
Daréna retorted with a blow of his elbow in the ribs, muttering:
“So I see, you fool!”
Then, turning to Louise, he continued:
“Mademoiselle, if you do not wish to call at my friend Chérubin’s, it
does not seem to me fitting that you should remain in the street. In
Paris, you see, there are certain proprieties that one must always
observe. Young and pretty as you are, you must not expose yourself to
the risk of being insulted by some scoundrel. Take my arm; you are my
friend’s foster-sister, his playmate, and I naturally declare myself
your protector. Pray take my arm.”
“Oh! how kind you are, monsieur!” replied Louise, timidly putting her
arm through Daréna’s. “Are you really going to take the trouble to take
me to Monsieur de Monfréville’s?”
“I will take you wherever you choose--to the king if you have anything
to say to him.--Poterne, why don’t you take mademoiselle’s bundle?”
“You are too kind, monsieur, but it does not trouble me.”
“No matter; I will not allow my friend Chérubin’s foster-sister to carry
a bundle when she has my arm.”
Poterne had already taken the bundle from Louise’s hands; and she,
confused by so much courtesy, walked on with her arm through Daréna’s,
while Poterne followed, feeling the bundle to find out what there was in
it.
As they walked along, the girl told Daréna how she had left Gagny to
enter Madame de Noirmont’s service, and her grief because Chérubin had
forgotten her; in fact, she omitted nothing save the visit Madame de
Noirmont had paid to her during the night.
“And what do you propose to do at Monfréville’s?” asked Daréna, fixing
his eyes on Louise’s lovely ones.
“I am going to give him a letter which was given to me for him.”
“To induce him to reconcile you and your dear friend Chérubin, no
doubt?”
“Oh! no, monsieur! it’s about something that he alone knows about.”
Louise said no more, deeming it improper to admit a third person to the
secret of what Madame de Noirmont had said to her. Daréna paid little
heed to that matter; he was thinking what he should do with Louise.
Suddenly he remembered the little house on the outer boulevard, which he
had hired for the Polish intrigue, and which was still in his
possession, as he had been obliged to take it for six months. Turning to
Poterne, he said with a wink:
“Monsieur de Poterne, my friend Monfréville is still living in his
_petite maison_ on the boulevards, outside the wall, is he not?”
“He is, monsieur le comte,” replied Poterne innocently. “But Monsieur de
Monfréville often goes away on short journeys about the neighborhood; I
can’t vouch for it that he is at home now.”
“At all events, we will take mademoiselle there. If he is absent, we
will consider what Mademoiselle Louise, my friend Chérubin’s
foster-sister, can do until his return. Ah! there’s a cab; let us take
it, for it’s a long way from here to Monfréville’s.”
Poterne summoned a cab, and Louise entered it with her two chance
acquaintances; the girl was entirely unsuspicious; she was convinced
that the gentleman who had offered her his arm was a friend of Chérubin,
and in her eyes that title was enough to banish suspicion.
The cab stopped in front of the house near Barrière de la Chopinette,
which had been occupied since the abortive Chichemann affair by little
Bruno alone, whom they left in charge. Daréna whispered a word in
Poterne’s ear, and that gentleman took pains to enter first. Louise
remained with Daréna, who wasted a long time paying the cab-driver. At
last he ushered the girl into the house, the boy having received his
instructions.
“We wish to speak with Monsieur de Monfréville,” Daréna said to Bruno.
“Here is a young lady, my intimate friend Marquis Chérubin’s
foster-sister, who is most anxious to see him.”
Bruno eyed Louise impertinently as he replied:
“Monsieur de Monfréville’s away; he’ll probably come back to-morrow or
next day; if anybody wants to wait for him, he told me to offer his room
to any of his friends who might come to see him.”
Louise was in despair; she looked at Daréna and murmured:
“The gentleman is away; what shall I do?”
“In the first place, my child, you must go upstairs and rest,” said
Daréna; “then we will see, we will consider. Come, follow me without
fear; in Monfréville’s house, I act as if I were at home.”
Louise went upstairs with Daréna, who, to dispel every shadow of fear
from her mind, made a show of treating her with the greatest respect,
and kept always at a considerable distance from her. She was rather
surprised that the person to whom Madame de Noirmont had sent her should
occupy a house of such humble appearance, and so modestly furnished; but
she had not told her that he was rich, she had simply said that he could
tell her who her father was, and that was why she was so eager to see
him.
“My lovely maid,” said Daréna, after a moment, “you know no one in
Paris--except Chérubin; and you do not wish to go to him to ask for
shelter, I presume?”
“Oh! no, monsieur!”
“To return to Gagny and then come here again would be a waste of time;
besides, if you travel alone, you expose yourself to a thousand
encounters that are most annoying to a young lady. It seems to me,
therefore, that the best thing for you to do, in view of your position,
is to wait here until Monfréville returns.”
“Here, monsieur! alone in this house, with nobody but the little boy I
saw downstairs,” replied Louise, with a shudder of dismay; “oh! I should
not dare.”
“Alone, my child? no, indeed. If that were the case I would not make the
suggestion; but there is a concierge here, Monfréville’s confidential
servant, a most respectable person. That little fellow is her nephew;
she probably is not far away, and he is watching the house during her
absence.”
“Oh! that is a very different matter! If there is a respectable woman
here, and she is willing to look after me until Monsieur de Monfréville
returns----”
“Wait; I will go down and see what has become of her.”
Daréna hurried downstairs and said to Poterne:
“You will send this little rascal away instantly and find a woman
between forty and sixty years of age, who has a face that is somewhere
near respectable; that will give the girl confidence, and she will stay
here. I am not sorry to get rid of Monsieur Bruno anyway, after he
admitted so readily those people who ruined our last affair.”
“A respectable woman,” said Poterne--”I don’t know any such. How in the
devil do you expect me to find anything of the kind at La Courtille?”
“Where you choose--nonsense--a dealer in old clothes--a
fortune-teller--a charwoman--and teach her her lesson.”
Daréna returned to keep Louise company and told her that the concierge
had gone to the central market, because there was no market in that
quarter, but that she would soon return.
Meanwhile Poterne began by discharging Monsieur Bruno, who was much
displeased to be turned out-of-doors, and who ventured to indulge in
some far from respectful gestures as he withdrew. But Poterne did not
amuse himself watching Bruno’s antics; he went about to the neighboring
wine-shops, and from house to house, inquiring for what he wanted. At
last, after two hours search, he found it. He returned to the house with
a woman of about fifty years, tall as a grenadier, with a cap on her
head which certainly had not been washed for a year, and a dress the
color of which was no longer distinguishable; a pimply face, blear-eyes
and a nose smeared with snuff completed her portrait.
“This is Madame Ratouille, Monsieur de Monfréville’s confidential
servant,” said Poterne, presenting his companion.
Madame Ratouille, to whom Poterne had given careful instructions,
curtsied very low to Daréna and greeted Louise most affably, assuring
her that the house was at her disposal, and that her master, Monsieur de
Monfréville, would approve of her having urged the young lady to wait
for him. Madame Ratouille, being extremely loquacious and anxious to
play her part well, because she had been promised six francs a day and
all that she wanted to eat, lost herself in a sea of words intended to
prove to Louise that she would be out of reach of insult in that house.
The girl, feeling certain that Madame de Noirmont could not have sent
her to any but respectable persons, thanked Madame Ratouille warmly, and
consented to await Monsieur de Monfréville’s return under her care.
Daréna passed some time with Louise; Poterne seized the opportunity to
show the new concierge over the house, where she was supposed to have
lived for a long while. He urged her not to talk too much, for fear of
making some slip, and above all things not to allow anyone to have
access to the girl who was placed in her charge; then he went away with
Daréna, who bade Louise adieu, informing her that he would come the next
day to find out whether his friend Monfréville had returned, and whether
she had everything that she needed.
When they had left the house, Poterne said:
“This girl has fallen into our hands to make up to us for the Polish
intrigue. She is a fascinating creature! It is impossible that young
Chérubin should not adore her; indeed, you have often told me how much
he used to talk about his little playmate--a proof that he hasn’t
forgotten her, as she thinks; but we mustn’t let him have her except for
her weight in gold.”
Daréna made no reply; he seemed to be thinking deeply, and Poterne did
not dare to disturb him; he proposed to have the management of the
affair in his own hand.
The next day Daréna made a careful toilet and went with Poterne to the
little house. While he talked with Louise, Poterne remained below,
talking with Madame Ratouille, who assured him that the girl had not had
a moment of ennui as she had played cards with her all day.
Daréna remained with Louise until nightfall; when he went away with
Poterne, he was as silent as on the day before.
The following day passed in the same way; but Poterne observed that his
dear friend was becoming more and more coquettish in his attire. Madame
Ratouille continued to play cards with Louise, who thought that Monsieur
de Monfréville was very slow about returning. But Daréna said to her
every day:
“Be patient; he must return at last, and as you have waited for him so
long, it would be absurd to go away just at the moment of his return.”
But Louise was beginning to be disturbed; it seemed to her that the
gentleman who came every day to keep her company, no longer addressed
her with the same respect or kept so far away from her; she considered
that he gazed at her too often and too long; and she had observed some
things in Madame Ratouille’s manners and speech which materially
diminished her confidence in that woman.
On the sixth day, when they left the house, where they had remained
later than usual, Poterne, surprised to find that affairs were still at
the same point, said to his companion:
“I say! what’s your plan? When shall you see the young marquis? What
fairy tale do you propose to tell him on the subject of the girl?”
Daréna puffed himself up and replied in a fatuous tone:
“I have changed my mind! This girl is decidedly too pretty to turn over
to another man; she pleases me. I had forgotten what love was, and she
has revived that sentiment in my dilapidated heart! Louise shall be my
mistress; and then, later, when I am tired of her, we will see.”
“That’s a fine idea!” cried Poterne. “Is that the way you hope to earn
money? Fall in love--you! why it’s pitiful! just because you have a few
gold pieces in hand, and because you have been lucky at play these last
few days. But it will soon be spent; and if you miss this
opportunity----”
“Poterne, if you don’t stop annoying me, I’ll break this stick over your
back! I mean to possess that child; perhaps it is only a whim, but it
suits me to gratify it. She’s a little jewel, is this Louise, not a
false one, like the one you sold to Chérubin. To-morrow, you will order
a delectable repast, with wines which you will be kind enough not to
purchase at La Courtille; you will order it sent to my villa near
Barrière de la Chopinette; I will dine with Louise, and I will sleep
there. As to you, if Madame Ratouille tempts you, I turn her over to
you.”
“Sapristi! I should prefer five years at Toulon!”
“You heard me, Poterne: a dainty feast at the little house to-morrow.”
“And you think that this young Louise will consent to----”
“Why not, when I have induced her to drink a few glasses of champagne?
And if she doesn’t consent, why, I will do without her permission. For
six days now I have been darting burning glances at her, and if she
hasn’t understood them, so much the worse for her! it isn’t my fault,
and I have no desire to take it out in sighs.”
“Well,” thought Poterne, as he followed Daréna, “he has taken it into
his head, and anything that I could say would do no good.”
While all this was taking place, Chérubin and Monfréville were searching
Paris, making inquiries, asking in all directions if anything had been
seen of a young woman, of whom they gave an exact description. All of
Chérubin’s servants too had taken the field; Monsieur Gérondif started
out as soon as he had breakfasted and did not return until dinner-time,
swearing that he had travelled twelve leagues during the day in search
of Louise. Jasmin had gone to Gagny to inquire whether by any chance
Louise had returned there; but the girl had not been seen, and Nicole,
when she learned that the whereabouts of her adopted child were
unknown, shed tears, cursed the tutor, who was responsible for Louise’s
going to Paris, and swore that she would find him and beat him if her
child was not found.
Two days passed and no trace of her had been discovered; toward the end
of the third day, Chérubin had just left Monfréville, to return home, in
despair over the non-success of his search, when, as he crossed the Pont
Neuf, his eyes happened to fall on a small boy, leading an ugly dog,
which he offered for sale to the passers-by.
The young dog fancier’s face bore altogether too noticeable an
expression of craft and mischief not to attract the attention of a
person who had seen it before. Chérubin instantly recognized the little
scamp who was watching the house to which Daréna had taken the so-called
Comtesse de Globeska; and, without any very clear idea in what way that
encounter might be of service to him, he walked toward Monsieur Bruno,
who recognized him and seemed delighted to see him.
“Ah! it’s you, is it, monsieur? I recognize you!” said Bruno, staring
impudently at the young man; “you’re the man they tried to gull with a
German woman who made believe she was a Pole! Don’t you want to buy my
dog? It’s a terrier; he’ll bring things back better’n I do, for I never
bring anything back at all. Six francs! that’s not a high price. I found
him yesterday and I’m selling him to-day; we’re both hungry, and that’s
why I’ll let you have him so cheap.”
“Ah! so you sell dogs now, eh?” said Chérubin.
“Well! I’ve got to do something, as those fellows turned me
out-of-doors. You know who I mean--your friend that’s such a bully, and
that old thief of a Poterne. You see they’ve taken another girl to the
little house yonder, but she’s a very different kind from the Alsatian;
she’s a mighty sight prettier.”
A sudden thought flashed through Chérubin’s mind; he led Bruno aside,
put twenty francs in his hand, and said to him:
“Here, that’s for you; and ten times as much more if you will help me to
find the woman I am looking for.”
“Twenty francs! My eyes! what luck! I never had so much money at once.
The dog’s yours.”
“Now answer my questions. Daréna and Poterne, you say, have taken a
young girl to the house outside the barrier?”
“Yes, in a carriage, an old cab.”
“How long since? do you know?”
“_Pardi_, yes! I was there when they brought her. It was--let me see--a
week ago to-day.”
“A week--and we have been looking for her three days; oh! it must be
she! Is this young lady pretty?”
“Lovely, and she don’t look like a country wench like the other. They
made her believe that she was at a Monsieur de Monfréville’s house; then
that old vagabond of a Poterne went off and found, I don’t know where,
an old woman to play concierge; and they kicked me out.”
“Did they call her by name before you?”
“Wait a minute--I remember now that, when they arrived, Monsieur Daréna
said, as he brought the girl into the house:
“‘This is my friend Marquis Chérubin’s foster-sister.’”
“It is she! Ah! the villains! I’ll make them give her back to me! Poor
Louise! in that infamous Daréna’s hands for a week! God grant that I may
arrive in time!”
“Take me with you. If you appear at the door, they won’t let you in.”
“I’ll break the door down.”
“Oh! it’s too strong; but I promise you that I’ll find a way to make
them open it.”
“Come, then, come; I will double the reward I promised you, if Louise is
under my protection soon.”
“Ah! a fine trick! They’ll kick me out, will they? Thanks! I guess I’ll
have a little revenge.--Go on, Boudin, I give you your liberty--go find
a dinner.”
Bruno released his dog. Chérubin hesitated a moment, uncertain whether
he should inform Monfréville of his discovery; but every instant’s delay
made him more and more fearful that Louise would fall a victim to some
plot, and he felt that he had sufficient resolution and courage to
rescue her, single-handed, from the dangers that threatened her. He took
a cab with Bruno, and was driven first to his house, which was not far
away; he took a pair of pistols, determined to make use of them, if
necessary to rescue Louise; then, without a word to any of his people,
he returned to the cab, which conveyed him and Bruno to Barrière de la
Chopinette.
It was dark when they reached the outer boulevard. Chérubin quivered
with impatience, rage, and fear of not finding Louise. Little Bruno, who
thought of everything, said to him:
“Have the cab stop before we’re very near the house. If they should hear
it, it would put them on their guard.”
Chérubin realized the wisdom of that advice; he alighted with Bruno,
ordered the driver to wait for him, and walked toward the house with his
little companion. The shutters were closed on the ground floor and first
floor; but through the poorly joined boards it was easy to see that
there were lights on both floors.
“There’s somebody there!” said Chérubin, his heart beating violently.
“Yes. Now is when we need to be cunning, in order to get in. Wait, and
don’t breathe. Have your pistols all ready to frighten them when the
door is open. You’ll see how I pull the wool over their eyes.”
And Bruno knocked on the door, beginning at the same time to whistle and
hum his favorite tune: _Tu tu tu tu r’lu tu tu tu_.
Poterne was at table with Madame Ratouille, on the ground floor; Daréna
had gone upstairs, where he had ordered Louise’s dinner to be served,
announcing his purpose to dine with her. He had just declared his love
to Louise, who, terrified and trembling, began to understand that she
had fallen into a trap, and implored heaven to come to her aid.
On the ground floor, where there was no talk of love, they ate much and
drank even more. Madame Ratouille’s eyes had grown so small that they
were invisible, and Monsieur Poterne’s tongue was beginning to thicken,
when Bruno knocked on the door.
For some time no one answered; at last Poterne’s voice inquired:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Père Poterne; it’s your little monkey, Bruno; please let me
in.”
“What do you want, you scalawag? what have you come here for? We are not
in need of you. Away you go!”
“I came to get a Greek cap that I forgot to take; I’m sure I can find
it, for I know just where I put it. Let me get my cap and I’ll go right
away.”
“You annoy us. Go somewhere else and get a cap. Leave us in peace.”
“If you don’t let me get my cap, which is in your house, I’ll knock on
the door all night, and I’ll make row enough to bring the watch here.”
That threat convinced Poterne; he opened the door, grumbling:
“Well, come in and find your Greek cap; and make haste to clear out.”
But instead of the small boy whom he expected to see, Chérubin darted
into the house, with a pistol in his hand, the barrel of which he held
against Poterne’s chest, saying in a low voice, but with fire flashing
from his eyes:
“If you make a sound, I’ll kill you!--Where is Louise?”
Poterne was so frightened that he could barely murmur:
“Upstairs--with Daréna.”
Chérubin asked no more questions; he darted forward, rushed upstairs,
and with a kick forced the door of the apartment on the first floor. He
was no longer the weak, timid young man, who could neither speak nor
act, but a Hercules whom nothing could withstand. As he entered the room
he saw Louise struggling and doing her utmost to repel Daréna, who was
trying to take her in his arms. Chérubin rushed upon the man who sought
to outrage Louise, and seizing him about the middle of the body, lifted
him up and threw him violently across the room, against the table on
which the dinner was served.
Daréna had no time to grasp what had happened, or to defend himself; his
head struck the corner of the table, his chin broke a plate which cut
his face, and he fell, murmuring Chérubin’s name.
“Chérubin!” cried Louise, staring at her rescuer, afraid to believe her
eyes, but shedding tears of joy. “Is it possible? It is he! it is you!”
“Yes, Louise, it is I, Chérubin, your friend, your brother--so overjoyed
to find you! But come, come! Do not stay any longer in this infamous
house! As for you, villain, if there is any heart left in your body, and
if you wish to have the honor of dying by my hand, come to my house, and
you will find that the young man whom you believed to be so shy and
timid, knows how to use a sword and a pistol.”
Daréna could not reply, for he was unconscious.
Chérubin took Louise’s hand and led her away; on the lower floor they
found Madame Ratouille still at table, while Poterne was trying to hide
in a butter firkin, and Bruno stood guard at the door. Chérubin did not
stay an instant with Daréna’s confederate; he led Louise from the house,
and told Bruno to call the cab to the door; he did so, and they entered.
But, before they drove away, Chérubin took a handful of gold pieces from
his pocket and gave them to Bruno, saying:
“Take this; you have earned it by doing a good deed; I hope that it will
bring you luck, and that you will try to become an honest man.”
The cab drove off. Chérubin held both of Louise’s hands in his; and for
some time those two, who had not met for three years, were so pleased
and happy to be together again, their hearts were so full, their emotion
so intense, that they could exchange only incoherent words and broken
sentences.
“It is really you, Chérubin, who saved me,” said Louise. “So you did
still think of me?”
“Why, Louise, I have been searching Paris for three days, looking
everywhere for you, ever since I learned that you had disappeared from
Madame de Noirmont’s. I have not lived, I have not had a moment’s peace
of mind!”
“Can it be true? Then you still love me, Chérubin?”
“Love you, my Louise! Ah! more than I ever did--I realize it now! I let
a long while go by without going to see you, it is true; you must have
thought me indifferent or ungrateful; but I always intended to go to see
you, if Monsieur Gérondif had not told me that you were in Bretagne,
where you were so happy that you did not mean to return to Gagny.”
“Oh! the liar! And it was he who drove me to despair by telling me that
you never gave a thought to your old playmate, that you had no desire to
see her again.”
“The miserable villain! why, that was perfectly horrible!”
“And it was not true, and you do still love your poor Louise? Oh! how
happy I am!”
This time the drive from the barrier to his house seemed very short to
Chérubin. He alighted, led Louise into the house, and took her up to his
own apartment. She followed him trustfully; she was with the man she
loved--that was the only thought in her mind.
Jasmin, who had come up to his master’s apartment with a light, uttered
a cry of joy when he saw the girl, and Chérubin briefly explained to him
how he had found her.
“So it was that blackguard Poterne again--the preserved turnips fellow!”
cried Jasmin; “and his master--another rascal! Do you know, monsieur, it
has occurred to me several times that they were mixed up in this.”
“Louise will remain here. I do not propose that she shall leave me,”
said Chérubin; “I am too much afraid of losing her again. She will have
apartments in this house; but meanwhile she will occupy mine to-night.
Jasmin, you will have a room prepared for me upstairs.”
“Yes, my dear master.”
Louise tried to object to that arrangement; she disliked to disturb
Chérubin and said that the smallest room in the house would suffice for
her; but Chérubin paid no heed to her, and Jasmin went to carry out his
orders.
The young people were left alone. It seemed that Chérubin would never
tire of gazing in admiration at Louise. She was so lovely, so charming,
so fascinating, in his eyes, that he cried:
“And I forgot you for all those creatures that I thought that I loved.
Ah! Louise, there is not a single one of them who can be compared with
you!”
The girl told her friend all that she had done since she left the
village; she concealed from him none of her thoughts; she had no secrets
from him. When she reached the time of her entering Madame de Noirmont’s
service, she told him of all the incidents that had marked her life
there; then, suddenly putting her hand to her breast, she made sure that
she still had the letter which she was to deliver to Monsieur de
Monfréville, and which Daréna was trying to make her give up to him when
Chérubin arrived so opportunely to rescue her.
“I will take you to Monfréville to-morrow,” said Chérubin, “for it is
too late to-night to send for him to come here. Madame de Noirmont told
you that he would tell you who your father is; but, my dear Louise, let
us swear that, whatever happens, we will never part again. If you have
no parents, I will take the place of them both; I will be your
protector, your friend, your----”
Chérubin did not know how to finish, but he took Louise’s hand and
covered it with kisses. The girl was so happy to find that her old
playmate still loved her, that she gladly took the oath that he
requested. They did not weary of telling each other of their love, and
of swearing that they would love each other always. Then they recalled
their childish delights, their first games, the happy moments that they
had passed together, those days, so brief and so blissful, which they
might perhaps know again.
To two people who love each other sincerely and who have not seen each
other for a long time, the hours pass rapidly and unnoticed. Jasmin had
long since come to inform his master that a room had been prepared on
the upper floor, and Chérubin had dismissed him, making ready at the
same time to follow him. But he resumed his conversation with Louise, he
let his eyes rest in unalloyed delight upon hers, which were filled with
emotion and love. They exchanged more oaths of never-ending love and
thought no more about parting.
Suddenly a neighboring clock struck two.
“Mon Dieu! it is very late!” said Louise; “two o’clock! I would not have
believed it! My dear, I am keeping you from sleeping; we must say
good-night, but only till to-morrow.”
“Very well,” said Chérubin, “I will leave you to sleep, Louise.
Good-night--since it must be.”
And the young man gazed lovingly at the girl--and did not go away. At
last he added with some embarrassment:
“Louise, before we part, won’t you let me kiss you? I have not dared to
do it since I found you; and yet, in the village, we used to kiss very
often.”
The girl saw no reason why she should deny the friend of her childhood
the sweet privilege which she used to accord him, and her only reply was
to walk toward him. Chérubin threw his arms about her and pressed her to
his heart; but his kiss was no longer the kiss of a child. Louise
realized her imprudence too late; how can one shun a danger which one
does not anticipate? And then there are sins which it is so pleasant to
commit, and Chérubin swore so earnestly that he would always love
her!--He had ceased to be bashful!
XXVIII
MONFRÉVILLE’S LOVE-AFFAIRS
Daybreak found Chérubin still in Louise’s arms; the apartment made ready
on the floor above had not been required. But when morning came, the
young man crept softly upstairs, so that his servants might think that
he had passed the night there. About nine o’clock he rang for Jasmin and
bade him go down and see if Mademoiselle Louise had risen and could
receive him.
The old servant eagerly performed his errand and returned with a radiant
face to inform his young master that his dear friend had risen, that she
was as lovely and fresh as a rose, and that anyone could see that she
had slept soundly all night.
Chérubin smiled at Jasmin’s perspicacity, and went down at once to
Louise.
The girl wept and hid her face on her lover’s breast; but Chérubin said
to her in the tone which speaks true love and which reaches a woman’s
heart so quickly:
“Why should you regret having made me happy, when I propose to employ my
whole life hereafter to make you happy? We will never part, you will be
my faithful companion, my beloved wife.”
“No,” replied Louise, weeping, “you are rich and of noble birth, and you
cannot marry a poor girl without father or mother. I shall love you as
long as I live, but I cannot be your wife; for perhaps a day would come
when you would be sorry that you had given me that title, and then I
should be too wretched.”
“Never! and it is very wicked of you to have any such idea!--But there’s
the letter that you are to deliver to Monfréville--that should inform
you who your parents are. I will throw myself at their feet, and they
will have to consent to my becoming your husband.”
Louise sighed and hung her head.
“But am I worthy _now_ to find my parents?” she replied. “It seems to me
that I no longer dare to deliver the letter to that gentleman; perhaps I
should do better to destroy it.”
Chérubin succeeded in allaying her fears; he decided to write to his
friend and to send him the letter that the young woman dared not carry
to him. So he at once wrote Monfréville the following letter:
“My dear friend:
“I have found my Louise; she is an angel who will embellish my
life. She cannot be another’s now, for she is mine. O my dear
Monfréville, I am the happiest of men, and I was not frightened
this time. But then, I have never loved other women, and I adore
this one.
“Madame de Noirmont gave my Louise a letter for you, and told her
that you could tell her who her father was; and it was while she
was looking for your house that she fell in with that villainous
Daréna, who took her to his _petite maison_, making her think that
she was in your house. Luckily, I arrived in time! I send you this
letter, my friend; come to us quickly, and tell us what you know.
But if Louise’s parents would try to part us, do not make them
known to her; for henceforth we cannot exist without each other.”
Chérubin signed this letter, enclosed with it the one that was given to
Louise, and sent them both to his friend early in the morning.
Monfréville was alone when Chérubin’s letter was brought to him, and he
lost no time in reading it. When he saw Madame de Noirmont’s name and
learned what she had said to Louise, he trembled and turned pale, and
his eyes instantly rested on the enclosure; he glanced at the
superscription and exclaimed:
“Yes, she has written to me; I recognize that writing, although it is a
long while since my eyes last rested on it. Great God! what can have
induced her to write to me, after swearing that she would never look
upon me except as a stranger, that she would wipe the whole past from
her memory? And this girl that she sent to me--Ah! if I dared to hope!”
Monfréville broke the seal of Madame de Noirmont’s letter. Before
reading it, he was obliged to pause again, for he was so excited that
his eyes had difficulty in distinguishing the letters. At last he made
an effort to recover himself, and read:
“Monsieur:
“When, disregarding your oaths, you left me to lament by my child’s
cradle a fault which you made no motion to repair, I swore that you
should never know that child. And more than that, I confess that I
included her in the hatred which filled my heart thenceforth for my
seducer; I abandoned my child to the village people in whose care I
had placed her, and I determined never to see her again. Later, my
position made it my duty to keep that oath. My father, who, thank
heaven, never knew of his daughter’s wrongdoing, disposed of my
hand; married, a mother, and the wife of a man no less severe on
the question of honor than jealous of his reputation, I should have
wrecked my daughter’s happiness, Monsieur de Noirmont’s, and my
own, if, by a single imprudent step, I had exposed myself to the
suspicion of a youthful indiscretion. To tell you that I was happy
would be to deceive you; can a mother be happy, when she has
spurned one of her children from her arms? I often blamed myself
for the caresses that I gave my daughter; for I said to myself, in
the depths of my heart, that I had another daughter who had an
equal claim to my affection, and that I had cast her out!--My
remorse was not sufficient, evidently, and Heaven had a more
terrible punishment in store for me! A few months ago, while I was
out of town, a young woman was taken into my household as lady’s
maid. Her sweet disposition, the charm that emanated from her whole
person, soon won all hearts. I myself felt drawn toward her. But
conceive my situation when I discovered that that girl, brought up
in the village of Gagny, by the good-nature of a peasant-woman
named Nicole, was the same child whom I had abandoned to that
woman’s tender mercies years ago! My daughter under my roof in a
servile capacity! a servant in her mother’s house! Ah! monsieur,
could I endure that ghastly position of affairs? Constantly tempted
to throw myself into Louise’s arms, to strain her to my heart;
then, remembering my husband, my other daughter, the honor of a
whole family--I felt that I must find a way out of that situation
or die. At last I went to Louise; I could not force myself to
confess that I was her mother, but I implored her to leave the
house, and the poor child yielded to my entreaties. But, deeply
touched by the attachment to me which she has manifested, I have
determined to give her a father. That child, whom, on your return
to France, you vainly implored me to make known to you, is Louise,
the lovely and virtuous maid who will hand you this letter. Give
her a father, monsieur; as for her mother, you must not mention her
name to her, but her heart will doubtless lead her to divine who
she is.
“AMELIE DE NOIRMONT.”
When he had finished reading this letter, Monfréville abandoned himself
to the wildest delight; he ran his eyes over Madame de Noirmont’s
missive again, for he feared that he was the plaything of a delusion; he
was too happy to think that Louise, whose beauty and virtue and sweet
temper everyone joined in extolling, was the daughter whom he was
ardently desirous to find. But soon he recalled something that moderated
the exuberance of his joy; he remembered Chérubin’s letter, took it up
and read it again, and a melancholy expression stole over his face.
“Heaven did not choose that my happiness should be without alloy,” he
murmured, with a sigh; “doubtless it is to make me expiate my sin; but
after being so guilty myself, there is nothing left for me to do but to
forgive.”
Louise and Chérubin were still together; they were impatiently awaiting
Monfréville’s arrival, and their impatience was blended with a secret
fear which they could not clearly define.
At last, Jasmin announced: “Monsieur de Monfréville.”
Louise, deeply agitated, lowered her eyes; Chérubin ran to meet his
friend, but stopped short when he saw his serious, even stern,
expression, and faltered, offering him his hand:
“Haven’t you received my letter, my friend?”
Monfréville did not touch the hand that Chérubin offered him; he turned
his eyes on the girl who stood, trembling, at the farther end of the
room; and, as he gazed at her, he felt that his eyes filled with tears.
But, struggling to conceal the emotion that he felt, he seated himself a
few steps from Louise, who still kept her eyes on the floor, and
motioned Chérubin to sit, saying:
“Yes, I have received your letter; and I have read the one from Madame
de Noirmont, who tells me that mademoiselle was adopted by the same good
woman who nursed you.”
“Well, my friend, is it true that you know Louise’s father, that you can
help her to find him? But do you think he will make her happy, that he
will not put any obstacles in the way of our love?”
Monfréville glanced at the girl again and said in a faltering voice:
“Yes, I know mademoiselle’s father.”
Louise raised her eyes at that, and looked at Monfréville with a thrill
of hope and of filial affection, crying:
“You know my father? Oh! if it should be true, monsieur, that he would
deign to love me--to----”
She could not finish the sentence; her voice trembled and the words died
on her lips.
“Before answering your questions,” Monfréville continued, after a
moment, “it is necessary that I should tell you an anecdote of my youth.
Please give me your attention.--I was just twenty-two years old; I was
independently rich, absolutely master of my actions and with very little
control over my passions. I loved a young lady belonging to an honorable
family. She had no mother to watch over her, and during her father’s
absence, my love succeeded in triumphing over her virtue. Believe me, it
is very wrong to abuse a sentiment you have aroused, in order to induce
the person you love to forget her duties; and it rarely happens that one
is not punished for it!”
Here Chérubin lost countenance and dared not look at Monfréville, while
Louise, pale and trembling, felt the tears falling from her eyes.
“Soon after,” continued Monfréville, “being obliged to visit England on
business, I went away, promising the victim of my seduction that I would
soon return to ask her father for her hand. But when I was away from
her, inconstancy, too natural in a young man, led me to forget my
promise. But I received a letter in which she told me that she was about
to become a mother, and that I must hasten back to her, if I wished to
save her honor and repair the wrong I had done. Well! I left that letter
unanswered; I had another intrigue on hand! Two years passed. I returned
to France, and, remembering the woman whom I had abandoned in such
dastardly fashion, and the child who did not know its father, I resolved
to offer my name and my hand to her to whom my conduct had been so
blameworthy. But it was too late--she was married! As she was married to
a man of honorable position, I felt sure that she had succeeded in
concealing her weakness from all eyes; but I was wild to know what had
become of my child. After many fruitless attempts, I succeeded at last
in obtaining a secret interview with the woman who had loved me so well;
but I found only an embittered, implacable woman, who, to all my
entreaties, made no other answer than this: ‘You abandoned me when I
implored you to come home and make me your wife and give your child a
father. I no longer know you! I desire to forget a sin for which I
blush; and, as for your daughter, all your prayers will be wasted, you
shall never know what has become of her.’ This decree, pronounced by an
outraged woman, was only too strictly executed. Sixteen years passed. I
renewed my prayers at intervals, but in vain: they were left unanswered.
And now, Chérubin, you know the cause of the fits of melancholy which
sometimes assailed me in the gayest circles; of that instability of
temper for which I am noted; sometimes, amid the noisy amusements of
society, the thought of my child would come to my mind, and the wealth
that people envied, the good-fortune that I seemed to enjoy--ah! I would
willingly have sacrificed them to hold my daughter in my arms just once!
But to-day my desires are granted; to-day, a friend of her whom I once
loved so dearly, has deigned to restore my child to me at last! But O my
God! when I should be so happy to recover her, must I needs learn at the
same time that she is guilty? that seduction, which wrecked her mother’s
happiness, is the lot of my child also?”
Monfréville had not finished when Louise and Chérubin threw themselves
at his feet. With their faces bathed in tears, they kissed his knees,
and Louise held out her arms, murmuring tremulously:
“Forgive me, father--forgive us! Alas! I did not know my parents, and
Chérubin was everything to me!”
Monfréville opened his arms and the lovers threw themselves upon his
heart.
“Yes,” he said, as he embraced them, “yes, I must forgive you, for
henceforth I shall have two children instead of one.”
XXIX
CONCLUSION
Some time after that day which restored a father to Louise, Monsieur de
Monfréville, who had publicly acknowledged her as his daughter, bestowed
her hand on Marquis Chérubin de Grandvilain.
And on the wedding-day, Nicole came to Paris, doubly happy to be present
at the ceremony which sealed the happiness of him whom she still called
her _fieu_, and of the child to whom she had, for a long time, been a
mother.
And Jasmin, who seemed to have recovered all his youthful vigor,
absolutely insisted upon discharging fireworks in the courtyard for his
master’s nuptials; but stout Turlurette opposed it, recalling the
accidents that had happened at the time of Chérubin’s birth. So that
Jasmin confined himself to firing a few rockets, with which he burned
off what little hair he had left.
As for Monsieur Gérondif, Chérubin, after bestowing a tidy little sum
upon him, requested him to seek other pupils. The tutor, finding himself
possessed of a round sum, determined to make a name for himself in
Paris; he founded a Latin journal, wrote a tragedy, gave a course of
lectures on universal knowledge, and tried to compel ladies to dress
without corsets. After some time, having succeeded only in squandering
his capital, he was very glad to return to Gagny and resume his post as
schoolmaster.
As the result of his fall among plates and glasses, Daréna was
permanently disfigured, so that he dared not show himself in respectable
society; he abandoned himself more freely than ever to his taste for
debauchery, and after a wild orgy and a night passed at play with some
low wretches, whose money he had won, he was found in the street, dead
and stripped clean.
Thus ended a man born in good society, brought up in opulence, and well
educated, but reduced to the lowest social level by his vices.
After losing his intimate friend, Monsieur Poterne became a dealer in
return checks at the doors of theatres, and in that occupation he
received several beatings because one could never get into the theatre
with the checks that he sold.
Little Bruno took advantage of the advice and the money that Chérubin
gave him; abandoning the practice of stealing dogs to sell, he set up a
little shop, did a good business and became an honest man; he often said
that it was easier than to be a knave.
Louise was a happy wife and a happy daughter. Monfréville never told her
her mother’s name; but when she went into society, where she was warmly
greeted as young Marquis Chérubin’s wife, she sometimes met the Noirmont
family. It was with the keenest pleasure that she embraced Ernestine,
who always manifested a warm affection for her. Then her eyes would seek
Madame de Noirmont’s, who, on her side, was always on the watch; and
when, concealed behind the throng, their eyes met, their glances were
eloquent with all the love that a mother’s and a daughter’s hearts can
contain.
As for Chérubin, he became a model husband; it is even said that he was
faithful to his wife; that young man was always different from other
people.