be; you can go up without moving your legs; and then there is a
concierge who is willing to do the housework for all the tenants, at a
very moderate price, and even to make the coffee."
"There are many advantages, and no mistake; where is this jewel of an
apartment situated?"
"Not very far from here, monsieur, on Rue de Crussol; it's near the
boulevard, near that handsome round theatre for horses, that's just been
built."
"I don't know Rue de Crussol."
"If monsieur is able to walk, I will show him the way there."
"Go and fetch a carriage, and you may take me to see the lodgings."
"Right away, bourgeois."
Chicotin went out to fetch a cab, and climbed up behind when Roncherolle
was inside. They stopped on Rue de Crussol in front of the house which
Chicotin pointed out. An old concierge, very dirty but very polite, made
repeated reverences to Roncherolle, and bustled upstairs before him,
while Chicotin said to the old gentleman:
"If you don't want to go up, bourgeois, because it tires you, why I will
take you on my back. I am strong and I won't drop you; I would carry you
that way through the streets if you wanted."
"Thanks, my boy, but that new style of locomotion does not attract me,
and I doubt whether I could make it the fashion. Besides, they say that
one must walk about and exercise with the gout. So I will go up on my
feet."
"If you must exercise, you see that it is much better that you should
live on the fifth floor."
Roncherolle inspected the lodgings, heaved a profound sigh in spite of
himself, and reflected:
"After all, what can one expect to get for two hundred francs? It's all
I can afford--in fact, rather more."
He gave the concierge her earnest money, informing her that he relied
upon her to do the housework and to make his coffee; whereupon the old
woman redoubled her reverences and her politeness, crying:
"I hope monsieur will like our house; I shall always be ready to wait on
him; whenever he needs anything, all he has got to do is to put his head
out of the window and call Mere Lamort, and I will go up in a second."
"What did you say that I must call you, madame?"
"Mere Lamort."
"Ah! your name is Lamort, is it?"
"At your service, monsieur."
"You are very good; you have, I won't say a devil of a name, but a
singular name, at least; an almost terrifying name."
"Mon Dieu! monsieur, that don't prevent me from being as well as can be,
or from having had twelve children, who are all as well as you or I."
"For their sakes, I hope they are as well as you."
"And monsieur will see that my name don't prevent me from having a good
foot and a good eye; and he'll be satisfied with my services."
"I don't doubt it; we shall meet again soon, Madame Lamort."
Roncherolle returned to his cab, and Chicotin climbed up behind again,
saying to the driver:
"I am in monsieur's suite, in his suite, I say."[A]
[A] An untranslatable pun: 'Je suis de la suite de monsieur; de sa
suite, j'en suis.'
Two days later, Roncherolle, having purchased just what he absolutely
needed to furnish his new lodgings, paid what he owed at his quarters,
and announced that they might let his room.
"Ah! monsieur is leaving us?" said Beauvinet, pulling at one side of his
wig. "If anyone comes to ask for monsieur, what address shall I give?"
"You may send them to Passage I-don't-know-where, the first door to the
right as you enter Paris by the Barriere de l'Etoile."
When Roncherolle had been gone a long time, the young man was still
pulling at his wig, saying to himself:
"Passage I-don't-know-where! that's funny; I know all the passages in
Paris except that one."
XXXII
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
Since the Comte de Brevanne had spoken to Violette, and since she had
seen Georget look at her from a distance, and then walk hastily away,
with a glance of contempt at her, the young flower girl felt every day
more depressed and discouraged. So long as Georget had been near her, so
long as she was able to see him morning and evening, and read in his
eyes the love he felt for her, the young girl had looked upon that love
as a mere childish freak, and had refused to admit to herself that she
shared the sentiment which she aroused.
But now that her young lover had left Paris in order to avoid being near
her, now that he had fled from her, and when he met her manifested no
other feeling than that of contempt or hatred, poor Violette realized
how dearly she loved Georget; and, what was even more cruel, how dearly
she still loved him, despite the grief he caused her.
When she learned that the gentleman who had questioned her concerning
Georget was the young messenger's patron, the pretty flower girl had
felt a thrill of joy, and hope had returned to her heart; she flattered
herself that through the medium of Monsieur Malberg, she could convince
her lover that he had done wrong to suspect her. But the abrupt way in
which the count left her dispelled that hope.
However, as hope does not quickly leave a young heart, especially that
of a young woman who knows that she is pretty, Violette flattered
herself for several days that Georget would return to Paris, that he
would pass her booth, and that he would not have the courage not to
stop; then she said to herself also that this Monsieur Malberg, who had
asked her so many questions concerning her age and her mother, would
probably want to see her again. But the days passed and no one came,
neither Georget, nor his patron. A single man passed now and then in
front of the booth of the flower girl, at whom he cast insulting
glances, glances which seemed to enjoy the grief that he could read on
her face. That man was the author of all the girl's trials; and once
even he had dared to approach her and had tried to make love to her; but
thereupon Violette had risen, so indignant and so threatening, and the
flashing eyes which she turned upon Jericourt denoted such a determined
resolution, and her right hand had grasped so quickly several bunches of
thorns which were among her flowers, that he had walked rapidly away,
and had never again attempted to enter into conversation with the flower
girl.
It was ten o'clock in the morning, and Chicotin had just left
Roncherolle, who was living in his new lodgings on Rue de Crussol, and,
feeling that his left foot was not yet in condition to descend the five
flights, had again employed his regular messenger to carry a bouquet to
Madame de Grangeville and to inquire for her health. But as the
unfortunate victim of the gout saw his resources diminish every day, he
had told Chicotin to buy a bouquet for one franc instead of three.
The ci-devant lady-killer was still gallant; but his fortune no longer
permitted him to be gallant in the same measure as of yore.
Chicotin walked along Boulevard du Chateau d'Eau, with his franc in his
hand; and as it was not flower market day, there were very few dealers
in evidence; and the flower girls who were in their places had very few
violets, which doubtless were also scarce at that moment.
The pretty flower girl who bore the name of that flower was the only one
supplied with them; she had some large and fine bunches.
"_Sapristi!_" said Chicotin to himself, as he turned over some miserable
little bunches at two sous which another flower girl offered him; "this
isn't what I want; I can't carry such things as these to the lady on Rue
Fontaine-Saint-Georges; for when one buys only one kind of flower for a
franc, one ought to get a fine bunch."
"You think so, do you, sonny? Perhaps you don't know that violets are
out of season just now. See, I will tie these four little bunches that I
have left all together and they will make a very pretty bouquet."
"Not much! I don't want 'em; your bunches are all withered; they look as
if they had been used before."
"What a stupid little animal!"
Chicotin walked away from her, saying to himself:
"It's no use for me to look, there's only one flower girl who has any
real good bunches of what I am looking for, and that's Violette; but I
have sworn not to buy anything of her since I knew that she deceived
poor Georget. However, I must do my errand, and I don't know whether I
shall find violets anywhere else. After all, you buy of a person and pay
her and that's the end of it; that don't make you friends; and then, she
don't ask so much as the others; I'll go to her."
So Chicotin walked to the girl's booth and examined her bouquets.
"Ah! is it you, Chicotin?" cried Violette, as she recognized Georget's
friend. "It's a long time since I've seen you; it's a strange thing how
all my old acqaintances have gone away, I don't know where. Have you
done like your friend Georget? Have you stopped standing on the
boulevard?"
"How much do you ask for this bunch, mamzelle?"
"I say, Chicotin, do you ever see your friend Georget? for of course he
must come to Paris from time to time."
"This big bunch of violets, mamzelle, I ask you how much it is."
"And I ask you if you ever see Georget? It seems to me you might answer
me."
"Mamzelle, I came here to buy some violets and not for anything else. I
buy them of you, because you're the only one that's got any good ones;
if it wasn't for that----"
"If it wasn't for that--well, what? Come, finish what you were going to
say."
"Well! I was going to say that if it wasn't for that I wouldn't have
spoken to you."
"What, you too, Chicotin? Why, has it gone so far that I must receive
insults from everybody? that everybody is going to insult me? Ah! that's
a shame! what have I done to you, that you should say that to me?"
"To me--you haven't done anything to me personally, but you have to
somebody else, somebody I'm very fond of, who's my friend; you've made
him unhappy, and when anyone treat my friends bad, I always take a hand
in it."
"Ah! Georget has told you too----"
"Yes, mamzelle, he has told me--mon Dieu! you know well enough what he
must have told me,--that he couldn't love you any longer, because
you--but no matter--How much for this big bunch, mamzelle?"
"And you believed all that too; you are convinced that I am a girl
without honor, without shame?"
"Mamzelle, I give you my word that I didn't believe it right away; no,
indeed; and that I didn't want to believe it at all; but when you are
certain of a thing--look you, just consider that Georget and I followed
that dandified Monsieur Jericourt a whole day, to make him speak; I
begged him to tell me the truth about you."
"Monsieur Jericourt--well?"
"Well! he called me a fool; he said that when a girl went--How much for
this bunch, if you please?"
"Ah! the coward! the villain! but he lied, Chicotin, I swear to you that
he lied!"
"Oh! mamzelle, everybody knows that women never admit such things; if
only nobody had seen you; but as someone did see you, nothing you can
say will make me believe--Well, if you're not crying now! I'm sorry for
it, I don't like to make anybody cry; but it ain't my fault; I didn't
say a word about this; it was you who would talk about it; it worries me
to see you cry, and I'll go away, as you won't tell me how much this big
bunch of violets is."
"Whatever you please," faltered the girl, holding her handkerchief to
her eyes.
"Mon Dieu! I can't pay more than twenty sous, mamzelle."
"All right, that's enough; take it."
"Yes, mamzelle, I will take it; here's the twenty sous. Adieu,
mamzelle."
Chicotin took the bouquet and walked away very fast, because he felt
that if he remained longer with the flower girl he would be quite
capable of crying with her.
Violette wiped her eyes and tried to keep back her tears; but this fresh
blow had wounded her heart too deeply; she felt too unhappy, and was
absolutely determined to extricate herself from that position.
Throughout the day she cudgelled her brains trying to think whom she
could apply to for good advice; she felt that she must have a friend, a
protector to defend her, to assist her to justify herself. But in vain
did the poor girl cast her eyes about; fatherless and motherless, she
was also friendless since Georget believed her guilty. At last, an idea,
a last hope presented itself to her mind; despite the haste with which
Monsieur Malberg had left her, it had seemed to her that he had felt
some interest in her; the questions he had asked, the extreme attention
with which he had gazed upon her, everything led her to suppose that
something spoke to him in her favor; moreover, all the good that she had
heard of that strange man, and the benefactions which he had heaped upon
Georget and his mother, finally confirmed her in her determination. She
decided to go to Nogent, and to appeal to Georget's patron for aid and
protection; and she flattered herself that he would not turn her away.
Somewhat tranquillized by this hope, Violette went to sleep less
unhappy, saying to herself:
"To-morrow morning I will go to Nogent."
XXXIII
DISAPPOINTMENT.--CERTAINTY
On the fifteenth day after his visit to Monsieur de Roncherolle, the
Comte de Brevanne did not fail to return to the furnished apartment on
Rue de Bretagne. As he was starting upstairs, Beauvinet stopped him,
saying:
"Whose room is monsieur going to?"
"To Monsieur de Roncherolle's; I know that it is on the third floor!"
"Yes, it was on the third floor, but as the tenant has left, it ain't
worth while for monsieur to go up."
"He has left?--He has gone out, you mean, don't you?"
"No, monsieur, no; he has gone away, he has left our house."
"Left your house! when, pray?"
"About ten days ago."
"And where does he live now? He must have left you his address?"
"His address--yes, monsieur; he lives on Passage I-don't-know-where,
first door to the right when you enter Paris by Barriere de l'Etoile."
The count, who was in a very bad humor already, administered a hasty
kick on the young man's posterior, and left the house in a rage, saying:
"Let that teach you to make such idiotic answers to me!--Gone! gone! he
has escaped me again!" said Monsieur de Brevanne to himself as he went
away; "he has sworn that he will not fight with me! Gone! but he could
not stand on his legs; so he must have been carried, and it is
impossible that he can have left Paris; a man doesn't travel when he is
helpless, and above all when he has no money. Judging from what I saw,
his circumstances were not prosperous. Shall I have him hunted for in
Paris again? No, I will wait until chance once more brings me face to
face with him. But I am sorry not to have seen him again; I would have
tried to find out--but no, I could never have asked him that!"
Monsieur de Brevanne was about to return to his estate in the country,
thoughtful, and dissatisfied with himself, when he suddenly remembered
that Monsieur de Merval had given him his address in Paris; so he took a
cab and was driven there.
"This is a pleasant surprise," said Monsieur de Merval to the count. "I
hardly expected to see you before the bad weather begins; for the autumn
will soon be here, and we are having the last fine days."
"My dear sir, do not be too grateful for my visit; a powerful motive
brought me to Paris to-day."
"Why, it is true, I had not noticed--you seem to have had some keen
disappointment; can I help you in any way?"
"Have you time to listen to me?"
"Always."
Thereupon Monsieur de Brevanne informed Monsieur de Merval that he had
found Roncherolle; he described the visit he had paid him, and told him
of the useless proceeding which had been the result of his first visit.
"You see," said Monsieur de Brevanne as he finished his narrative, "he
has escaped me again; he denies me the satisfaction which I have a right
to expect from him; he runs away without leaving his address; he does
not want me to find him! What do you think of such conduct?"
Monsieur de Merval shook his head, and after a moment replied:
"Do you desire my real opinion?"
"To be sure."
"Well, if you wish me to tell you my thought, I consider that
Roncherolle has done well."
"Done well? to refuse to give satisfaction to the man whom he has
insulted? done well to run away, to act like a coward? Ah! I don't
understand you, Monsieur de Merval!"
"Please listen to me calmly. In the first place, Roncherolle is not a
coward, as we all know; if he runs away from you, it isn't because he's
afraid of death. Mon Dieu! he told you so himself; ruined, suffering
torture in his bed three-fourths of the time, do you think that you
would punish him by depriving him of life? No. You will kill him, for
you know very well that he will never aim his weapon at you; you will
kill him--you have a right to, and no one would consider it a crime on
your part; but when you have accomplished this act of vengeance, will
you be any happier? No, no! on the contrary, you will be much less so. I
could have understood this duel in the days just after the insult,
although it would still have caused you remorse in the future; but after
twenty years, when the heroes of the episode are so different from what
they were, when it seems that Providence has undertaken to punish the
guilty, you would hunt down a miserable wretch, who for twenty years
past must have cursed a misstep which deprived him of a genuine friend,
whom he has never replaced! No, no; do not do it; leave time to act; it
is inexorable; and when we forgive those who have offended us, be sure
that every day time takes it upon itself to make them understand how
heavily they have laden their future with remorse and regret by yielding
in their youth to a guilty passion, a guilty sentiment!"
The count listened to Monsieur de Merval without interrupting him, and
seemed to reflect deeply. After quite a long silence, he raised his eyes
to Monsieur de Merval's face, and gazed fixedly at him, saying:
"But that is not all, you have not told me all that you know; there is
something else."
"What? what do you mean? why do you suppose that I know anything else of
interest to you?"
"Because now I remember your questions. I do not know how you were able
to discover a secret which had remained a secret to me down to this day;
however, I mean this--that of that criminal connection--between
Roncherolle and her who bore my name--there was--there was a child born;
is that true?"
"Yes, that is true."
"Ah! you knew it then, did you?"
"Chance, one of those circumstances which one cannot foresee, led to my
discovering that mystery; this is how it happened: a year after you left
your wife,--observe that date, a year after, and I am certain of what I
tell you,--I had been passing a few days at the country house of a
friend at Ermenonville. Finding myself in the neighborhood of the
lovely spot where Rosseau's tomb is situated, I took it into my head to
stop there; in my childhood I had been taken to visit that village,
which is overflowing with reminiscences of the illustrious author of
_Emile_. But I find that one sees with more pleasure and interest at
thirty years than at fifteen whatever speaks to the mind, the soul and
the heart.--I had taken rooms at the best inn, which was, I believe, the
only one in the village; I intended to pass two days at Ermenonville, to
revisit the park, the desert, the island, in fact all those charming and
poetic spots which one never tires of visiting. On the evening of my
arrival there was a terrible storm. I was, I remember, in the common
room of the inn; the rain was falling in torrents, and although it was
September, it was quite cold, and I was glad to find a huge fire in an
enormous fireplace.
"Suddenly we heard the noise of carriage wheels, which approached and
stopped in front of the inn. Great surprise and great delight was felt
by the inn-keeper and his wife, who did not expect guests so late,
especially in such horrible weather. They ran to the door and I retained
my seat in front of the fire. Soon the inn-keeper's wife returned and
said to me:
"'It's a gentleman and lady, very distinguished folks, it's easy to see.
His wife is in an interesting condition; she's afraid of the storm and
wants to sleep here; but while we're getting a room ready for her, she's
coming to sit in front of this warm fire, with monsieur's permission.'
"'Why, of course!' I said to the hostess; 'I will with very great
pleasure give up this seat to the lady, which is the best one.'
"'She seems to be near her time; continued the hostess; 'it would be
lucky for us for she'd have to stay here for some time.'
"As the woman stopped speaking, the travellers entered the room, and a
voice which was not unknown to me exclaimed:
"'Pardieu; here's a fire that does one good to see!'
"I had retired to the end of the room. Imagine my surprise, when I
recognized De Roncherolle with Madame de Grangeville on his arm, who did
seem, in fact, to be in a very interesting condition. Neither of them
noticed me. Understanding how embarrassing the meeting would be to them,
I made haste to disappear through a small door at the end of the room; I
went up to my bedroom, which I did not leave again, and the next day at
daybreak I left the inn without seeing the other guests again. That,
monsieur le comte, is how I discovered a secret which, I think, has
always been a mystery to everybody else; and my reason for never
mentioning it to you has been that it seemed at least unnecessary to
tell you of something which it could not be agreeable to you to learn,
and which moreover is entirely unconnected with you, you
understand,--entirely unconnected."
"Yes, I understand very well. However, I never had any suspicion of
anything else. Did you return to Ermenonville?"
"Yes, I admit that I was curious enough for that; about three weeks
after leaving so hurriedly at daybreak, I went back to the village and
stopped at the same inn. The mistress of the house recognized me
perfectly, and as we were talking of the guests whom I had left there, I
asked her if the event which she desired had taken place in her
inn.--'No, monsieur, no;' she replied; 'the next day, the lady was
better, and insisted on leaving, and I heard them tell the servant who
was driving, to take the Paris road.'--This, my dear count, is all that
I know concerning a fact which I should never have mentioned to you if
you had not seemed to be informed about it to-day."
"And this child--the fruit of that guilty liaison--did you ever learn
what became of it, what they did with it?"
"No, I assumed that it did not live. Otherwise, would not Madame de
Grangeville have it with her, calling herself its godmother or its
adopted mother? There are a thousand ways of disguising the truth when
one wishes to keep a child with one."
"Well, I know more than you. I know what they did with that child and
what became of it."
"Is it possible?"
"At least, I think I'm on the track of the mystery."
"And if you are not mistaken, what do you expect to do, monsieur le
comte?"
"Oh! I don't know yet; it is all so shocking, so detestable! I cannot
listen coolly when those events are being talked about. Adieu, Monsieur
de Merval; I am going back to the country. I need to breathe the
country air in order to restore my tranquillity, to help me to recover
from the emotions of this day."
Monsieur de Merval did not try to detain Brevanne, whose state of
irritation he appreciated; and the count at once returned to Nogent.
Pongo was waiting for his master, teaching Carabi to pretend to be dead.
Mere Brunoy was sewing, and Georget was going and coming about the
garden, for the poor fellow could not keep still. Since he had been to
Paris, and had seen how sad Violette looked and how she had changed, her
image constantly haunted him; and when he saw his patron start for Paris
that morning, he had been twenty times on the point of asking leave to
accompany him, but he had not dared; after the oath he had lately taken,
it would have been showing too little strength of character. So the
young lover had remained at Nogent, where the day had seemed endless to
him; and he hovered about the gate, in order to see the count when he
returned, hoping that he might have seen Violette again and would speak
of her to him.
Monsieur de Brevanne returned during the afternoon; but his brow was
dark, his expression more thoughtful than usual. Without a word he
passed his household, who bowed before him; and he shut himself up in
his room at once.
"Master no want to talk," said the mulatto to Georget, "him not nod his
head and say good-day; him not in good temper."
"Oh! I saw that too; he didn't say a single word as he passed.--I
suppose he didn't see her--he has other things on his mind. Well, he
won't speak to me about her, and he looks too stern for me to mention
her to him."
And Georget returned sadly to his mother.
XXXIV
THE COAL BARGE