[Illustration: frontispiece, Copyright 1904 by G. Barrie & Sons]
_DEATH OF RONCHEROLLE_
_"O my God! my father is dead!" cried the girl. Georget and his friend
sadly hung their heads; thereupon Violette fell into Monsieur de
Brevanne's arms._
NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME XVI
THE FLOWER GIRL OF THE CHATEAU D'EAU
VOL. II
[Illustration: PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS]
THE JEFFERSON PRESS BOSTON NEW YORK
_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._
THE FLOWER GIRL OF THE CHATEAU D'EAU
XXIV
HOW IT HAPPENED
"I had fallen madly in love with Mademoiselle Lucienne Courtenay; you
know as well as I that her beauty and her charm attracted every eye. I
paid my addresses to her, she welcomed my homage. In short, I believed
that she loved me as dearly as I loved her, and we were married.
"During the first year of our union, I was happy; but I began at last to
discover that my wife was not, as I thought, a model of affection and
sensibility. Lucienne was coquettish, extremely coquettish; accustomed
very early to being flattered because of her beauty, she must needs
always be surrounded with homage, with compliments, with admirers! Dress
was her principal, I might even say her only, occupation. Amiable and
playful when she had her little court about her, my wife yawned and was
bored when we were alone. If I spoke to her of my love, she would reply
by inquiring about some new fashion. Ah! Monsieur de Merval, if coquetry
amuses and fascinates in a mistress, it becomes very dangerous in a
wife, especially if a man is jealous, and I was.
"The second year of my marriage passed, and I had already ceased to be
happy; my wife desired to pass her life in parties, dissipation, balls;
if I ventured to remonstrate, if I seemed disposed to decline an
invitation, she would make a scene, she would call me a tyrant! You may
imagine that I always ended by giving way; when one is in love, one is
very weak, and I was still in love with my wife; I did everything to
please her; I said to myself: 'Her taste for dissipation will pass! With
time she will become more sensible, and she will give a little more
thought to her husband.'
"My greatest grief at that time was that I was not a father; I prayed
constantly that Lucienne might give me a pledge of her love, but my
prayers were not granted. Ah! many times since then, monsieur, I have
thanked God because He did not listen to me; for it is a great
misfortune to have children when one cannot set them the example of
domestic peace and virtue!"
Here Monsieur de Merval turned his head away, with a singular
expression; but the count, paying no heed, continued:
"Now I must mention a person whom you knew, De Roncherolle, with whom I
was very intimate. We had been close friends at school. Roncherolle was
a very handsome gallant, and his unfailingly high spirits, his
effervescent, although slightly satirical wit, fascinated almost
everybody who knew him. We had lost sight of each other on leaving
school; when I met him again, after nine or ten years, he was a man of
fashion, famous for his gallant adventures, for his success with the
ladies. He was still as jovial and clever as before; his tendency to
mockery often involved him in difficulty, but, being as brave as he was
sarcastic, he had already fought several duels in which he had borne
himself most honorably. He seemed so glad to see me again, and
manifested so much affection for me, that I did not hesitate to give him
mine, and we soon became inseparable. But there was a great difference
in our dispositions, in our characters. Roncherolle made fun of
everything; he often laughed at or turned to ridicule the most venerated
customs, the sentiments most worthy of respect, and we sometimes had
lively altercations on that subject; but Roncherolle always brought them
to a close by some jocose remark, by some repartee so original, that it
was impossible to take anything seriously with him.
"When I married, Roncherolle naturally became one of the habitues of my
house; you will be surprised perhaps to learn that with my jealous
temperament, I introduced into my domestic circle a fascinating man,
especially renowned for his conquests; but I believed Roncherolle to be
my friend, my sincere friend; and despite his easy-going principles, he
was the last man whom I deemed capable of betraying me! Alas! I believed
in friendship, as I had believed in love; it is so pleasant to believe;
but one suffers keenly in proportion when one is undeceived!
"I was destined to pay dear for my confidence ere long. Obliged to take
a journey which would keep me away from Paris for a week, I desired to
take my wife with me; she invented a thousand excuses for not
accompanying me. I went away, urging Roncherolle to take care of
Lucienne. I was blind, as you see; I had no suspicion of what others
perhaps had already guessed.
"But when treachery surrounds us, it seems as if heaven itself
undertakes to open our eyes; it arranges events in such a way as to
reveal the truth to us; for I do not believe in chance, I believe only
in Providence.
"As soon as I arrived at Havre, which was my destination, I found that
the matter which I supposed was in litigation was settled, so that I was
free the next day, and I started to return to Paris. I exulted in the
thought of surprising my wife, whom I had not warned of my return. The
train which took me back to Paris was delayed two hours on the way, and
it was nearly midnight when I reached my house; the weather was bad, the
night was very dark, but I distinguished a carriage which arrived almost
at the same time as myself, and stopped a few steps from the porte
cochere of my house. A secret presentiment or warning instantly took
possession of my mind. Something told me that my wife was in that
carriage, that she was not returning alone, and that I was on the point
of discovering a shocking treachery! I cannot tell you how it was that
that thought came to me so suddenly, or what was the source of the flash
that suddenly gleamed in my eyes; but without hesitating a second, I
quickened my pace and reached the carriage just as the driver opened the
door to let the persons who were within alight. The size of the cab and
the darkness enabled me to hide behind it and, unseen, to hear
everything.
"Roncherolle alighted first, I recognized him instantly; then he helped
my wife to alight; but imagine my feelings, when, instead of entering
the house at once, I saw her walk a few steps away with Roncherolle, to
whom she applied the sweetest and most affectionate names, and then made
an appointment to meet him the next day. I did not need to hear any
more; I could no longer doubt my misfortune. The man whom I had believed
to be my sincere friend was my wife's lover! I rushed like a thunderbolt
between the traitorous pair, and talked to them as they deserved. My
wife uttered a shriek, and ran to the door and rang the bell. I grasped
Roncherolle's arm, when he too tried to fly, and said to him: 'You know
now what I expect of you; the insult you have offered me can only be
wiped out with your blood; if heaven is just, I shall kill you; if not,
after betraying your friend, you will have the added happiness of making
his wife a widow. To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock, I shall expect
you at Porte Maillot; we need no seconds; luckily, I know that you are
no coward; I rely upon you.'
"Roncherolle disappeared without a word. I entered my house; I hesitated
to appear before my wife, for I expected tears, entreaties, a scene of
despair; but although my heart was torn, although it requires much
courage to endure a blow which shatters in a moment the whole charm of
one's life, my course was already fully decided upon, and that is why I
went to my wife's apartment.
"Imagine my surprise, my stupefaction, when I found her occupied in
preparing for the night, almost as tranquilly as if nothing had
happened. However, at my approach, I saw that she trembled a little, she
was afraid of me; that was the only sentiment that I inspired in her,
that was her only remorse.
"'Do not tremble, madame,' I said to Lucienne, 'I am too well-bred to
adopt extreme measures with you, measures which your infamous conduct
would render excusable, perhaps, but which after all would not wipe out
the dishonor with which you have covered my name. That name I propose to
abandon, and I order you also to cease to bear it; this is the last
order that you will receive from me. To-morrow I go away, I leave you
forever. You have your own fortune, I have mine, and thank heaven! our
marriage contract was drawn up in such a way that each of us retains the
enjoyment of his own property. I shall make no noise, no scandal; the
world may interpret my conduct as it pleases; very likely it will put me
in the wrong, that would not surprise me; but I shall get over it; it
will be much harder for me, no doubt, to give up a happiness of which I
had dreamed, of which I was still dreaming, and which I did not think
was destined to last so short a time; but I will try, and heaven will
help me.'
"After saying this, I was silent for a few moments. I confess that I
expected tears and some words of repentance. But I was mistaken again!
My wife uttered a few incoherent sentences, in which, however, I
understood that she was trying to make me think that I was a visionary,
that I had misunderstood her conversation with Roncherolle, and finally
she ended by saying that she was very unhappy with me and that we should
do well to separate. I left her, I went away with death in my heart, but
without a glance at that woman who had not a single tear for the
unhappiness she caused me!
"The next day at seven o'clock, I had finished all my preparations for
departure and had written to my notary; I was preparing to start for the
place where I had appointed to meet Roncherolle, when a messenger
brought me a letter; I recognized the handwriting of the man whom I was
going to meet, and I hastily broke the seal; that letter has remained
engraven in my memory! Roncherolle's missive was thus conceived:
"'My dear De Brevanne'--he had the effrontery still to address me
so!--'I am very sorry for all that has happened. You have taken the
thing too seriously! I believed that you--as everybody else did; and
this is one of those things which happen every day; why in the devil did
you come back when you were not expected? From the days of the famous
Sultan of the Thousand and One Nights, such surprises have always
brought ill luck to those who make them. Now you want to fight with me.
I know perfectly well that you are entitled to, but it would be a
stupendous piece of folly, which you would repent some day. Yes, if you
should kill me, I will wager that later--much later probably, but at
some time or other--the day would come when you would be sorry for it;
for the passions calm down, and when a man reflects coolly, he is often
surprised to find that he has been terribly angry for a trifle. I
propose then to spare you the regret of having killed me; and as for
myself, I need not tell you that I shall never aim a pistol at you. And
so, as our duel cannot take place, it is useless for you to go to a
rendezvous where you will not find me. You know me well enough to be
aware that it is not from cowardice that I decline this duel; I have
proved that. But with you,--no, whatever you may do, I will not fight;
and as you will hope doubtless to meet me somewhere, I give you notice
that when you receive this letter I shall already have left Paris.
Adieu; I tell you again, I am sorry, very sorry for what I have done, as
you are seriously offended, but if you should kill me ten times over,
that would remedy nothing, for what is done is done. Adieu. He who no
longer dares to call himself, but who will always be, your friend.'"
* * * * *
At this point in Monsieur de Brevanne's narrative, Monsieur de Merval
could not help uttering an exclamation and interrupting the count.
"Upon my word," he said, "I do not believe that there ever was another
letter like that. To write in such terms, under such circumstances!
However, it depicts the man, and I recognize Monsieur de Roncherolle in
every line; he shows himself in that letter as he was in
society!--Excuse me for interrupting you and pray go on."
"I could not believe that that letter which I had under my eyes meant
what it said; ten times I read it, then I went to Roncherolle's house;
but he had not misled me, he had gone away at six o'clock that morning.
Judging from the preparations that he had made, it was probable that he
had left Paris, but where had he gone? No one could tell me. I sought
him in every direction, to no purpose; for several days I made the most
minute search, I could not discover a trace of the man, who, after
shamefully betraying my friendship, dared appeal to it to excuse himself
for not giving me satisfaction for his outrage. So I was forced to go
away without my revenge. Ah! Monsieur de Merval, I confess that that was
one of the most cruel torments that I suffered! I left France and
travelled for some time; but on receipt of certain intelligence, I
returned suddenly to Paris a year after my departure; I was assured that
De Roncherolle had returned, that he had been seen; but despite all my
efforts, I could not succeed in finding him. I went away again and
travelled a long while; years passed, and time, that great restorer, at
last restored the tranquillity which I had lost, without, however,
restoring my happiness; for, from the sufferings that I had undergone, I
had retained a deep-rooted misanthropy, and almost an aversion to
mankind. I was excusable, was I not, monsieur? Betrayed in my dearest
affections, at the age when the heart abandons itself to them with the
least reserve, I no longer believed in anything that had formerly
contributed to my happiness; and it is melancholy to say to oneself: 'I
have no friend; the man who presses my hand to-day will betray me
to-morrow if any of his passions may be gratified by so doing.'"
"Oh! Monsieur de Brevanne, you must not include all mankind in the same
anathema! Believe me, there are sincere sentiments, and there are men
who understand friendship.--And so you have not seen Monsieur de
Roncherolle since the day that you were to fight?"
"As I tell you, it was impossible for me to find him. Someone told me
once that he had met him in the Pyrenees, travelling with a lady who
called herself the Baronne de Grangeville; from the portrait that was
given me of that lady, I had no doubt that it was my wife, and that
thought prevented me from going to the Pyrenees; for I will admit that,
while I desired earnestly to meet a false friend upon whom I hoped to be
revenged, I had not the slightest desire to meet a woman whom I had
loved so dearly and who had betrayed me so outrageously. Much time has
passed since then. A few years ago, I bought this country house, in
which I am beginning to take some pleasure. Now, Monsieur de Merval, you
know the cause of my separation from Madame de Brevanne--tell me frankly
if the world guessed the truth, and if it judged justly in this
matter?"
"Yes, I tell you again, you were not the one who was blamed; to be sure,
there were, immediately after your rupture, some persons, ladies
especially, who undertook to compassionate the Comtesse de Brevanne, and
when they mentioned her, always referred to her as the unfortunate wife,
the poor woman whose husband had abandoned her; but very soon those same
persons were obliged to admit that they were wrong, for the connection
between Madame de Grangeville and Monsieur de Roncherolle became so
evident that it was impossible to refuse to believe in it. However, as
there are women who are never willing to admit that they were altogether
in the wrong, they undertook to excuse your wife by declaring that her
intimacy with Roncherolle probably dated from the moment that you left
her. But after that, events spoke so loud, the facts were so patent!"
"What's that? what events, what facts?" said the count, gazing at
Monsieur de Merval; the latter paused, seemed embarrassed, and
continued, in the tone of a person who feels that he has said too much:
"Why, I mean Madame de Grangeville's departure from Paris, her
travelling with Monsieur de Roncherolle; however, you know all that as
well as I do, and I fancy that it cannot be very agreeable to you that I
should expatiate farther upon these details in the life of a person who
no longer bears your name."
"My dear Monsieur de Merval, as I told you before I began the story of
my deplorable misadventure, only a short time ago I should not have had
the courage to do it, or to listen calmly while you spoke of that woman
whom I loved so well; but I have seen that woman again, here--I mean in
this neighborhood--only a few days ago."
"What! you have seen----"
"The person who calls herself now the Baronne de Grangeville, yes. It
was at the party given by my neighbors, the people whose house you were
leaving when I met you this morning. They had invited me, and I,
surmounting for once my aversion to society, attended the party. In
fact, I may as well confess that I had not entirely lost the hope of
finding Roncherolle; I have been positively assured that he is in Paris
now, and as most of my neighbor's guests were likely to come from Paris,
I said to myself: 'I will go back into society, and perhaps I shall meet
there the man whom I have sought in vain so long.' So I went to Monsieur
Glumeau's; they were giving theatricals in his woods, and I stood apart
from the others, but where I could see everybody. Imagine my feelings
when my eyes met those of a lady seated beside Madame Glumeau, who very
quickly turned her head aside when her glance and mine met. That glance,
brief as it was, impressed me--it instantly reminded me of Lucienne. I
left my place, and standing farther away under the trees, it was easy
for me to observe at my leisure that person's features. I cannot
describe my sensations; I could not, I did not wish to believe that it
was my wife; I imagined her still young and pretty; in short, still as
fascinating as at the time I parted from her."
"And you found a tremendous change! Remember that twenty years make
great ravages, especially in women who were formerly very pretty; the
ugly ones change much less, and it is that fact that consoles them for
being ugly.--Did Madame de Grangeville recognize you?"
"I have every reason to think so; when a few drops of rain put the
guests to flight, she alone remained in her seat, she seemed afraid to
move; at last, however, she turned her head to see if I were still
there; she saw me and her terror seemed to redouble; apparently I
frightened her! As for myself, she aroused my compassion, nothing more!
I was about to go away, when several young men came in search of her and
escorted her back to Monsieur Glumeau's house, where, as you may
imagine, I was careful not to follow her.--Now, Monsieur de Merval,
explain to me, pray, how it happens that that meeting, which, by
arousing all my memories, should have renewed my former griefs, has
produced an absolutely contrary effect? Yes, since that moment my heart
has been calmer, my thoughts have been much less gloomy; it seems to me
that my mind views things in an entirely different aspect now!"
"The change seems to me very easy to explain, monsieur le comte. Before
this meeting, your wife was still in your eyes the youthful beauty with
whom you were in love and of whom you were jealous; your memories were
the more bitter because they always recalled the treachery of a very
fascinating person! To-day that same person appears before you with
twenty years more upon her, and she is so changed that you have
difficulty in recognizing her. You realized then that you were still in
love with, and unhappy about, a person who no longer exists. For to you,
who have passed nearly twenty years without seeing your wife, her beauty
has entirely vanished; whereas to those who have seen her constantly,
she may still appear beautiful. As a man of much wit once said: 'How do
you expect that one person should notice that another grows old, when
they see each other every day?'--Hence I conclude, Monsieur de Brevanne,
that sentiments of regret are much less poignant when the object
regretted has ceased to be what it once was."
"I believe that there is much truth in what you say. But have you seen
Madame de Grangeville lately, Monsieur de Merval?"
"Yes, I too met her at the Glumeaus', in Paris, some time before the
festivity in question. I had seen Madame de Grangeville more recently
than you had, for I had caught sight of her occasionally at the play or
at concerts; but I never ventured to speak to her; the false position
which she occupied imposed that restraint upon me. At the Glumeaus', it
was she who accosted me and attempted to renew our acquaintance; she
even invited me to call upon her."
"And you accepted that invitation?"
"I should have been afraid of being discourteous if I failed to do so."
"And does she still make the same show, is she still as fashionable as
ever? For she was a coquette in everything; she must have the most
sumptuous furniture; the most trivial object in her apartments must have
the stamp of the most refined elegance!"
Monsieur de Merval shook his head slightly as he replied:
"Oh, no! it's not like that at all now; Madame de Grangeville's
household has undergone the same change as her person!"
"Is it possible that her tastes have changed too?"
"Oh, no! not her tastes! I presume that they are still the same; but it
is her means that have changed; I believe that she is ruined!"
"Ruined!"
"Or practically so!"
"But she had twelve thousand francs a year!"
"Yes, but that was twenty years ago; and in twenty years, a person who
loves luxury and pleasure can consume much more than that. In fact, I
found Madame de Grangeville in a small and very modest apartment, on a
fourth floor; and the furniture of that apartment was very far from
handsome!"
"And how many servants?"
"How many servants? Why, just one; and I fancy that one was sufficient.
I saw a sort of lady's maid, who doubtless does everything."
The count's face darkened. He was silent for some moments, then
muttered:
"So she has spent, squandered her fortune; and at the age when illusions
vanish, she will find herself destitute perhaps!"
Monsieur de Merval made no reply, but took his hat.
"Are you going to leave me already?" said the count; "I hoped to keep
you with me all day."
"You are very kind, but it is impossible to-day; I must return to
Paris."
"But at all events, you will promise to come again to see me?"
"I will come next week, if you care to receive me."
"I shall count upon you, and long for you as for a sunny day."
"Au revoir then, my dear count; we shall meet again soon."
Monsieur de Merval shook hands with Monsieur de Brevanne, then left the
house, saying to himself:
"Poor count! he does not know all even yet! But what would be the use of
telling him a thing the knowledge of which could not be agreeable to
him, and which perhaps he will never know?"
XXV
GEORGET'S TORMENTS
During the first days that he passed in the country, Georget rose at
daybreak and was occupied constantly until the night arrived; he hardly
gave himself time to eat his meals. He ran hither and thither from one
part of the garden to another; he turned up the earth with the gardener,
he felled trees, he gathered wood, wheeled the barrow, cleaned paths,
transplanted shrubs, and did it all with so much zeal and vigor that his
face was constantly streaming with perspiration.
In vain did his mother urge him to take a little rest; he paid no heed
to her; and when Monsieur de Brevanne said to him: "Why do you tire
yourself so, Georget, for heaven's sake? There is no hurry; I don't want
people to kill themselves working, and you will make yourself sick, my
friend;" Georget tried to smile as he replied:
"Oh, no! monsieur; on the contrary, it does me good to keep busy all the
time; it diverts my thoughts and amuses me; it prevents me from thinking
of something else too much."
"Poor boy!" said the count to himself; "I understand; he does all this
to enable him to forget that young woman whom he loved; he is trying to
fly from himself; and he has much difficulty in doing so."
"Friend Georget, him a squirrel!" said Pongo to Mere Brunoy. "Him no
stay a minute in one place. Him no sit down a minute in the shade to
rest and talk! So nice when you hot, to rest in the shade! Friend
Georget, him melt away with sweating. If him work like that in my
country, him die right away in two days!"
However, there were times when the young man stopped, compelled to wipe
away the perspiration which streamed from his face; at such times he
would look about to make sure that he was alone; and when he was certain
that no one could see him, he would let his head fall on his breast, and
sit for some minutes absorbed in thought; and often great tears would
mingle with the perspiration on his cheeks.
One evening, Georget went to his mother and asked:
"Do you still like it here very much, mamma?"
"Do I like it, my boy? Why I should be very hard to suit if I wasn't
happy here; a pretty house, a lovely country, pleasant work, all the
good things of life, and such a kind master, who keeps asking me if
there is anything I want! Aren't you happy and content to be here
yourself?"
"Forgive me, mother, I am perfectly contented. We have been here a long
time already, haven't we?"
"A long time! Only nine days, my dear."
"Only nine days! That is strange! It seems to me as if it was more than
a month!"
"Poor boy! Are you so terribly bored? Do you regret Paris?"
"Oh, no! I don't regret Paris, mother! I don't think of Paris at all!
But, although I have said that I would never step foot in Paris again,
if you should happen to need anything, if you have left anything at our
rooms that you miss, you must tell me so, mother; because it would take
me only a short time to go and get it for you; and I will return at
once, I won't stop an instant. It is such a little way from here to
Paris, that I am sure it wouldn't take me three hours to go and come
back!"
"Thanks, my child, but I have no need to send you to Paris; I haven't
left anything at home that I need; you won't have to take that trip."
Georget said nothing more, but his face betrayed his disappointment;
however, he dared not insist, for he feared that his mother would read
what was going on in his heart. A few days later, Georget accosted
Pongo, who was busily engaged in a dispute with a superb dahlia.
"Whom are you talking with, Pongo?"
"Who me talking with, Monsieur Georget; why, you see, with this fine
flower, this lovely dahlia, with the little pink and white edges; but
him naughty, not willing to stand straight, always hang his head. What a
bad trick to hang his head, like a fox! You hear, flower? Hold up your
head and look at the sun, or me will have something to say to you."
"It seems to me that it's a long time since you went to Paris, Pongo! I
thought that Monsieur Malberg used to send you there now and then?"
"Yes, Monsieur Georget, master he send me to Paris when him have errands
for me.--Oh! see little red flower over there hold his little head
straight! Do you see, great coward, the little one stands better than
you!"
"And you have no errands in Paris just now?"
"No, Monsieur Georget, and me very glad to stay here, where it's cool,
not get tired travelling; though master, him always want me to take the
carriage; but me not like the carriage; too crowded, dirty folks, not
polite, make faces at Pongo! One day me going to fight a nurse who stuck
out her tongue at me! Then driver come and make me get up on top with
all the bundles!"
"But that wasn't right, Pongo! What! you were going to fight with a
nurse,--a woman!"
"Why, she stuck her tongue out at me and call me gingerbread man."
"So, Pongo, you don't like it when you have to go to Paris?"
"No, no! And then when me leave Carabi, him always scratch me when me
come back; for him forget me, and not mind me any more; but me go there
all the same."
"Well, my dear Pongo, if you choose, the first time that Monsieur
Malberg gives you an errand to do in Paris, I will undertake it, I will
go in your place; and you need not be afraid but that I will do exactly
as you tell me."
"Oh! thank you, Monsieur Georget, you very kind; but me can't accept."
"Why not?"
"No, no, me no do that!"
"It would be a favor to me too, because then I could take the
opportunity to buy some things in Paris that I need."
"No, Monsieur Georget, me not send you in my place, because, when
master, him tell me to go there, if me no do it, he says: 'Pongo he no
more my servant, Pongo he make others do his work'; and he turn me away.
No, Pongo always do master's work himself!--Just wait, you flower, me
take a cane to you, fine Zima like master's, and then you have to stand
straight."
Georget walked sadly away from Pongo; the poor boy was burning with
longing to go to Paris, though it were to stay there but a moment; but
he dared not admit it either to his mother or to his patron; for after
swearing so often that he would never go there again, that he held Paris
in horror; after having earnestly begged that he might never be sent
there, how could he now have the face to ask permission to go there?
Would it not be equivalent to an admission that he was still thinking of
Violette, that he could not succeed in forgetting her, that, in short,
he would give ten years of his life to see her for an instant? At
eighteen, years seem such a trifle; if a lover's wishes could always be
gratified, he would often squander in a few days the best part of his
youth.
Monsieur de Merval had kept the promise he had given to the Comte de
Brevanne, and had gone to Nogent to pass a day. That day had been
employed in walking about the country, talking confidentially all the
while. Monsieur de Brevanne had questioned his guest again concerning
Madame de Grangeville's present position, and without making it apparent
that he attached much importance to the matter, he had inquired her
address. He had also asked Monsieur de Merval if he had not met Monsieur
de Roncherolle in Paris; but Monsieur de Merval was unable to give him
any information upon that subject.
During that day, employed in that confidential conversation, that
outpouring of the heart, in which one often reveals one's most secret
thoughts, Monsieur de Merval had been more than once on the point of
disclosing a secret of the greatest interest to him whose confidence he
received. But, always held back by the fear of causing him pain, he had
not spoken, and had left Monsieur de Brevanne, saying to himself, as
after his first visit:
"What is the use of telling him that? Perhaps he will never know it."
On the morrow of the day that he had passed with Monsieur de Merval, the
count in the morning informed his servant that they would go to Paris
about noon.
Pongo began at once to make his preparations, which consisted, first of
all, in stuffing Carabi with cake and bits of meat, in order, he said,
that the cat might not commit larceny during his absence and so call
for punishment.
The mulatto had hardly finished with his friend Carabi, and was about to
beat _flonflon_, which was the name he gave to his master's travelling
coat, when Georget passed him.
"What are you doing there, Pongo?" said the young man, stopping.
"Me beat flonflon, Monsieur Georget, me make _flonflon_ very fine and
clean; him like to be beaten, for him go to Paris!"
"What? are you going to Paris, Pongo?"
"Yes, me go with master, he tell me we go soon, at noon; you hear,
_flonflon_?--There! oh! you be all clean!"
"You say that Monsieur Malberg is going to Paris to-day?"
"Yes, Monsieur Georget, with me; he take me, so me put on Mina, my
pretty new cap."
Georget stayed to hear no more, but set about searching the house for
the count; at last he found him seated under a lilac bush, where as
usual he seemed to be deep in meditation.
"Pray forgive me, monsieur, if I disturb you," said Georget, approaching
the count; "but I have just learned that--that monsieur is going to
Paris to-day."
"Yes, that is true; but what does it matter to you, my boy, so long as I
do not take you, as you begged me not to do? Never fear, I don't need
you; I shall take nobody but Pongo."
"Mon Dieu! monsieur, you see, I have reflected--I have realized that I
was wrong to say that to monsieur, for I ought to be at his service, I
ought to be always ready to do what he wishes; and then--you see--I had
no right to ask monsieur not to take me to Paris when he went there; and
that is why--if monsieur would like me to go with him--why I will be
ready whenever monsieur says, I won't keep him waiting."
The count watched Georget closely while he was speaking, and replied
gently:
"I thank you, Georget, for the effort that you make to please me, but I
tell you again, I will not subject you to such a severe trial; you have
a horror of Paris, I know, and I can understand it; you might meet
someone there whom you wish never to see again, whom, on the contrary,
you wish to forget entirely; I will not expose you to dangers which you
are wise enough to avoid. Besides, I have no need of your service in
Paris; so calm your fears, my friend, you shall remain here."
The poor boy was struck dumb; he did not know what to say; he turned
pale and staggered, and at last, finding that he had not the strength to
conceal longer what he felt, he fell on his knees in front of Monsieur
de Brevanne, stammering in a voice broken by sobs:
"Oh! take me, monsieur! Take me, I beg you! It isn't my fault, but I
can't stand it any longer! I won't speak to her, monsieur; I won't speak
to her, that I swear to you; but if I can see her for a moment, just a
moment; if I can know that she is still there in the place where I used
to see her, then I will come right away, I will come back calmer and
more at peace, and I will work even better than ever, for my head will
not be in a whirl as it is now."
"Rise, my poor boy! At all events, you are honest now, and I prefer
that. What is the use of disguising what you feel? Moreover, my poor
boy, you do not yet possess the art of dissembling; stay as you are; it
is more rare, but it is much better. Well, as you can't live without
seeing her, you may go to Paris with me."
"Oh! how kind you are, monsieur!"
"But be careful! be prudent! remember the past! Ah! if twenty years had
passed since you had seen the object of your love, I should have less
fear for you; but after only a fortnight, it's very dangerous!"
"I won't speak to her, monsieur; I swear to you that I won't!"
"Very good. Go and get ready, and tell Pongo that I am taking you in his
place, that he need not go to Paris."
Georget, drunken with joy, ran like a mad man through the gardens; he
longed to tell everybody that he was going to Paris. He told the
gardener, who was watering his vegetables; he shouted it at his mother,
who was working in front of the house, and who thought that she must
have heard wrong; but when she attempted to ask her son for a word of
explanation, he was already far away. He hastened up to his room to
dress; he finished his toilet in a moment; then he started out to find
Pongo, whom he found still brushing and beating _flonflon_; he tried to
take possession of the coat, which the mulatto refused to give him.
"Let me have it, Pongo! let me have it!" said Georget; "you are not
going to Paris, I am going to take your place. Give me the coat, I am
going to take it to monsieur; it is beaten enough."
"What! what you say, Monsieur Georget,--me no go to Paris? Oh! you
joking! you make fun of me!"
"I tell you, Pongo, that your master himself just told me that he would
take me in your place; you can stay here with Carabi, that ought to
please you."
"Me no believe you! Let _flonflon_ alone."
"But I want to carry the coat to monsieur, as he is ready to go."
"You no touch _flonflon_! Me carry him to master alone, no need you."
"Then take it at once----"
"You won't give orders to Pongo. Let _flonflon_ alone!"
"Ah! you tire me!" and Georget, in his impatience to be gone, leaped
upon the coat which the mulatto held by one sleeve; each insisted upon
the other's letting go, and as neither of them would give way and as
they continued to pull, the subject of the dispute fell upon the gravel,
deprived of both sleeves, which remained in the hands of the two
disputants for the honor of carrying that garment to their master.
At that moment Monsieur de Brevanne arrived upon the scene of conflict;
he saw his coat upon the ground, sleeveless, while Georget and Pongo,
with an equally confused and sheepish expression, gazed piteously at the
portion of the garment which had remained in their hands.
"Well! I am waiting for my coat!" said the count, who found it hard not
to smile at the bearing of the two persons before him.
"Coat--_flonflon_--there, there!" said the mulatto, passing his master
the sleeve that he held.
"What's this you are giving me, Pongo? a sleeve?"
"Oh! me put on the rest afterward, master, me stitch up all what's torn,
me fix it nice. It's Monsieur Georget's fault, him want to take the
coat, him say me no longer monsieur's servant; me no believe him, he try
to take _flonflon_ by force."
"That is true, monsieur," said Georget; "it is my fault that your coat
is torn, I admit; I was in such a hurry to bring it to you, and he
refused to give it to me."
"If he take my place to wait on master, then Pongo discharged, turned
out! Poor Pongo! very unhappy! he go bang his head against the wall."
And the mulatto began to utter noises that would have frightened an ox.
Not without much difficulty did his master convince him that he had
never had any intention of dismissing him, and that if he did take
Georget to Paris that day, it did not mean that Georget had any desire
to take his place.
Georget himself embraced Pongo and begged him to forgive him for the
pain which he had involuntarily caused him; the mulatto became calm, he
picked up the pieces of _flonflon_, and Monsieur de Brevanne, having
donned another coat, started for Paris with Georget.
XXVI
A GOOD FRIEND
On reaching Paris, the count said to Georget:
"I don't need you at this moment, my boy; go about your own business;
but be on the boulevard, opposite Rue d'Angouleme, at five o'clock; I
will take you up there as I pass, I shall have a cab, and we will come
back together."
"Very good, monsieur; but if monsieur needs me, if he wishes me to go
with him----"
"It isn't necessary; be at the place I have mentioned at five o'clock."
The count walked away, and Georget did not hesitate long as to what he
would do. In a few moments he was on the boulevard, and he walked in the
direction of the Chateau d'Eau. It was flower market day in that
quarter, the weather was magnificent, and there was a great concourse of
dealers and promenaders. Georget congratulated himself upon that
circumstance, which would enable him to keep out of sight in the crowd,
and not be seen; for he wished to see Violette, and he wished also to
see her without her suspecting it.
On approaching the place where the pretty girl kept her booth, Georget
felt his legs tremble and give way under him. His heart beat so
violently that he placed his hand against it, trying to suppress its
throbbing. The poor boy had never been so intensely agitated. He longed,
yet dreaded, to turn his eyes toward the place where he used formerly to
stop so often. At last, taking advantage of a moment when many people
were between him and that spot, he raised his eyes and looked; he saw
Violette, and after that his glance remained fastened upon her. At that
moment indeed, the flower girl, being busily engaged in making bouquets,
was looking at her tray and was paying no attention to the passers-by.
Violette was as fascinating as ever; but the rosy tinge of her
complexion had almost entirely disappeared, her brow was careworn, and
all her features bore the stamp of melancholy; far from impairing her
beauty, however, it gave a new charm to her whole person.
Georget instantly observed the change, the pallor which had replaced the
roses that formerly adorned Violette's cheeks; and in a second, twenty
thoughts rushed through his mind.
"Why that sad, downcast expression?--Why this change, this pallor?--Why,
even while arranging her flowers, does her brow remain pensive and
careworn?--Is she sick?--Is she unhappy?--Who can make her so?--What is
she thinking about at this moment?"
Georget asked himself all these questions in less than a minute. But the
last was the one of all others which he would have given everything in
the world to be able to answer! Of what was she thinking at that moment?
Is not that always what a lover asks, when he can observe his mistress
unseen, and when he sees that she is thoughtful? But it is also the
question which most frequently remains unanswered.
Quite a long time passed and Georget was still in the same spot, with
his eyes fixed upon Violette, who did not see him. More than once the
young man was pushed aside and jostled by the passers-by, by people
carrying flowers.
"Look out!" they would shout at him; "stand out of the way! let us pass!
Is the fellow stuck to the concrete?"
But Georget did not stir, he did not even hear, he did not even feel the
jostling; it seemed as if his whole being were concentrated in his eyes,
and as if he only existed through them.
But he had no choice save to emerge from his trance and to reply, when
he suddenly felt a pair of wiry arms thrown about him, and someone began
to dance up and down in front of him and embrace him, exclaiming the
while:
"Ah! so here you are, my poor Georget! You're not dead, or melted! How
glad I am! I thought you must be in the canal or in a well, or caught in
a slide in the Montmartre quarries! Let me embrace you, _saperlotte_!
You villain! you brute! to disappear like this and leave your friends in
despair! Let me embrace you!"
Georget recognized his former comrade, and he felt touched by the joy
Chicotin showed as he gazed at him.
"Yes, it is I, Chicotin; thanks; so you have not forgotten me?"
"Forgotten you! what a stupid you are! What does that mean? why should I
have forgotten you? weren't we friends? I should like to know if friends
part like an old pair of breeches, which you never expect to put on
again? Forgotten! why, I've hunted for you in every corner of Paris!
I've been to your house, after asking Mamzelle Violette for your
address, for I didn't know it!"
"You asked Mamzelle Violette for my address?"
"To be sure; I had to ask her, to find out."
"And what did she say when you mentioned me?"
"Pardi! she told me that you lived on Rue d'Angouleme. I went there, and
I found a tall, thin brute of a concierge who was as drunk as a fool and
fighting with a woman--she must have been his wife, for she called him a
blackguard!"
"Didn't she say anything else?"
"The old woman said: 'They've gone away, and we don't know where they
are.'"
"But Violette--Violette----"
"The flower girl? Oh! I don't know what's the matter with her, poor
girl, but for sometime past she's been as sad as can be; she never
laughs now, she has changed completely! But bless my soul! perhaps she
was unhappy because she didn't see you any more; you, who used to pass
your days with her, all of a sudden you drop her, without even bidding
her good-bye, so it seems! That's a very nice way to act! If I'd behaved
like that, why it would have been all right! Nobody would have been
surprised, but they'd have said: 'Oh! that Patatras! that's just like
his tricks! Appear and disappear! like Rotomago in the marionette
show.'--But you, Georget, a fellow as polite as you, with the manners of
a solicitor's clerk! Really, I shouldn't have expected it of you."
While listening to his old comrade, Georget kept his eyes fixed on the
flower girl, who was still arranging her flowers. But there came a
moment when the girl raised her head and turned her eyes in Georget's
direction. He was convinced that she had seen him, and instantly,
dragging Chicotin away, he forced him to leave the boulevard, saying in
a choking voice:
"Come, come! Let's not stay here; she may have seen me, and I don't want
her to think that I still take pleasure in looking at her, in thinking
about her; she would make sport of me again, and I won't have it. Come,
Chicotin."
"But, for heaven's sake, look out! How you go! You are dragging me in
front of the omnibuses! If you want to get us run over, I beg to be
excused! I prefer something different! I say, haven't we gone far
enough?--But what is it that you have against Mamzelle Violette? You run
away from her, you who used to be so dead in love with her! I don't
understand it at all! What on earth has the girl done to you?"
"What has she done to me? She deceived me, she let me believe that she
was virtuous and honest, that she was worthy of my love, in short; but
it wasn't true; and she listened to one of those fine gentlemen who made
love to her, and she went to his room!"
"She! the pretty flower girl a hussy! Nonsense! It isn't true; I don't
believe it! it's all talk!"
Georget was impressed by the assurance with which his friend
contradicted him, and in the depths of his heart, he was conscious of a
thrill of the keenest pleasure; then it was his turn to embrace Chicotin
for what he had said; but he simply pressed his hand hard, as he
muttered:
"You don't believe that of her. Ah, I was like you, I would not believe
it; but if, in your presence, she had refused to deny such statements,
you would be forced to believe! Listen, listen!"
And Georget gave his friend an exact account of what had happened the
last time that he was on Boulevard du Chateau d'Eau.
Chicotin listened, shaking his head from time to time like a person who
still doubts what he hears, and when his friend had ceased to speak, he
cried:
"What does all that prove? That little squint-eyed villain,--and I'll
smash him one of these days,--says a lot of nasty things about a girl
who won't have anything to do with him! If he blackguards like that all
the women who send him about his business, he will have his hands
full."
"But that Jericourt, that fashionable young man,--alas! he is not ugly,
and you know very well that he made love to Violette!"
"Well, what then? He wasn't there, was he? He didn't say anything,
confirm anything?"
"But Violette! Violette! When the little man told her that he had seen
her go into his neighbor's room and come out rumpled and excited, she
didn't say to him: 'You are a liar!'--If it hadn't been true, do you
think that she wouldn't have contradicted that evil-tongued fellow and
confounded him?"
"Oh, bless my soul! I don't know! You should ask her to explain it all
to you."
"Ask her to explain--so that she could lie some more to me! Oh! I didn't
need any explanation. Besides, she saw my grief, my despair, and she let
me go away, she didn't say a word to justify herself. Come, Chicotin, do
you still believe her innocent now?"
"Bless me! yes."
"Yes? Ah! if I could only think like you! I have been so unhappy since I
have been unable to say everywhere that I love her! She is pale, she is
sad, she is changed, and how can I find out what causes her sadness?"
"Wait! wait! I see someone yonder who can tell us better than anybody
else the truth of the matter. Look, do you see that young man crossing
the boulevard?"
"Monsieur Jericourt! It is he! Let me go, Chicotin, I am going to speak
to him."
"Not much! What will you say to him, I should like to know?"
"I don't know; but I will force him to tell me if he is Violette's
lover."
"Force him! Can one force people to tell the truth? It is necessary that
that should come natural to them. Come, let's follow Monsieur Jericourt,
let's not lose sight of him. When we are in a place where there are
fewer people, I'll go to him and speak to him; he knows me. He don't
suspect, however, that on two occasions it was him that I tried to throw
down in front of the flower girl's booth; but then, that was a joke! As
I have told you, I often used to do errands for him--I haven't done any
for some time, I fancy that the funds are low--to his friend, the young
lion Saint-Arthur. There's a fellow who's allowing himself to be
stripped bare by little Dutaillis! What a number one canary he is!"
"Let us walk along faster, Chicotin; you must speak to him."
"Never fear, we won't lose sight of him. When the time comes, I'll ask
him, as if it was a matter of no consequence, to tell me the truth about
Mamzelle Violette; I'll tell him that I had an idea of marrying her.
Then why shouldn't he tell me the truth? What interest would the man
have in deceiving me?"
"What an excellent idea, Chicotin! Yes, yes, you must speak to him; I
will keep out of the way, so as not to seem interested. Oh, go at once!
go and speak to him!"
"I can't now; he's met someone, he's talking with a gentleman!"
"What a pity!"
"It only means a little delay; we will wait, we have plenty of time."