absurdly proud! Just imagine that everybody else had left, and we two
were all alone in the woods."
"Did madame try to have an interview with her husband?"
"No, I did not want to. But I don't know what the matter was with me; my
emotion took away all my strength, and I could not move; I was afraid."
"What folly! and monsieur your husband took advantage of that moment to
fall at your knees, to ask your pardon for his base conduct----"
"Oh! yes, of course! He glanced at me askance; he was leaning against a
tree, and I assure you that I didn't feel safe at all. Luckily the
company, disturbed at my non-appearance in the salon, sent three or four
young men to look for me; they found me in the woods, and I assure you
that I was very glad to go back with them."
"And after that--your husband?"
"Oh! he didn't come into the salon, and I was delighted. I didn't see
him again.--Well, Lizida, what do you say to all this?"
"Faith, madame, I say that monsieur le comte certainly is not agreeable;
when he found himself alone with a charming little woman like madame,
after a long separation, then or never was the time to throw himself at
her feet, to be reconciled, and to come together again!"
"Yes, it is certain that many husbands would have done that."
"And madame is so kind, I am sure that she would have forgiven him."
"That is very possible; but, however, that didn't happen. All the same,
I am delighted that that man saw me with the dress I wore yesterday; he
could not have suspected that I am short of money."
"Madame's costume was certainly magnificent."
"Just look in my bureau, Lizida, in the top drawer, and see how much
money I still have."
Mademoiselle Lizida looked into the drawer and answered:
"Madame, I find twenty francs."
"What! only twenty francs! and you changed a note for five hundred only
a few days ago! It isn't possible; you haven't looked thoroughly."
"I assure you, madame, that there is no more. But if madame will
remember all that she has spent, she will understand that there can
hardly be any more.--In the first place, we paid the dressmaker one
hundred and twenty-three francs, then the grocer ten francs, and after
that fifty more, because he came and made a row."
"That is true; it is hateful to have to give so much money to those
people."
"And then, madame bought that lovely hat that she wore yesterday--sixty
francs, I believe."
"Yes, and that was none too much."
"And then madame bought that superb silk dress with the figured
flounces--one hundred and twenty francs, I believe----"
"Yes, it was as cheap as dirt!"
"All these make nearly four hundred francs; and then there were
purchases at the perfumer's, gloves, and so forth; and then, we have had
to live. So madame sees that she can hardly have more than twenty francs
left."
"That is true. Mon Dieu! how the money goes! somebody ought to invent
something else, of which one could have more. Well, I must not hesitate
any longer; whatever the course of the market, I must sell my Mouzaias!"
Madame de Grangeville ordered her last resources sold; the securities
that had cost her two thousand francs produced barely nine hundred. With
that sum the baroness's household went on for some time; but as she
still had many debts and the creditors became threatening, it was
necessary to give them something on account; and with her mania for
gratifying all her fancies, Madame de Grangeville was incapable of
economizing. The result was that the end soon came of the proceeds of
the Mouzaias, and then she was obliged to forego gratifying her
caprices; then she was compelled, in spite of herself, to reflect, to
think of the future; and that was appalling for that woman, who had
never known how to occupy her time, even in those kinds of work which
well-born women do not disdain, and which become a resource when
adversity succeeds cloudless days.
Madame de Grangeville was obliged constantly to send to the
Mont-de-Piete some article of clothing or some jewel, in order to obtain
money. She was surprised at the very small amounts which they advanced
on these objects, but Mademoiselle Lizida, who became much less amiable
as the resources diminished, did not scruple to say to her mistress:
"Perhaps madame thinks that they will lend her what these cost! madame
imagines that the frippery for which she has paid so much has some
value. Not much! for example, a bonnet or a hat that madame paid forty
francs for at the Temple, they will advance fifteen sous on. And the
trouble is that madame bought such things so often; that is what ruined
us."
"But that silk dress that you carried to-day to pawn, Lizida, is not
frippery; it is one I bought to go to the Glumeaus' at Nogent--about two
months ago; it isn't worn at all, and it cost me one hundred and twenty
francs."
"True, but it's faded, and there's spots on it; madame spots her clothes
terribly; the design isn't fashionable any longer, nor is the color; in
fact, I shall have difficulty in getting twenty-two francs for it, and
that won't carry us far!"
Madame de Grangeville heaved a profound sigh and said to herself:
"What will happen when I have nothing more to pledge?"
"Oh! you see, madame," rejoined the lady's maid, becoming more and more
familiar, "you didn't have any tact! when you met your husband in the
woods at Nogent, you ought to have made some advances, have smiled
graciously on him. A husband who is so rich, dear me! is worth a glance;
if you had made eyes at him, it would have flattered him, and he would
have come back to you."
"I don't think so," replied Madame de Grangeville coldly.
"Bless me!" rejoined the lady's maid; "unless that gentleman has some
reasons--well, I don't know the explanation!"
Meanwhile the summer had given place to the autumn, and already new
necessities made themselves felt. Madame was cold in the morning and
wanted a fire in her room; but they often lacked wood, and instead of
trying to obtain some by playing the amiable with some new dealer,
Mademoiselle Lizida thought of nothing but looking for a new place,
having no desire to remain at a house where there were no more profits
to be had. Anxiety and annoyance aged Madame de Grangeville rapidly. In
six weeks she changed more than in six years. The deprivation of a
fashionable bonnet or hat was to that woman a sharper grief than all the
other events of her life. The wrinkles became more numerous and more
visible on her face, and she was forced to go without any of those
fashionable gewgaws with which a woman often conceals them. For a
coquette, that was the most cruel torture; she had not the courage to
endure her ill-fortune, and by worrying over it she made its ravages
more rapid.
One morning, when the wind was blowing from the north and the baroness
absolutely insisted upon having a fire, Mademoiselle Lizida, having no
firewood, had already broken up a chair from the reception room, and
several mushroom boxes, with which she was preparing to make a brisk
blaze, when the concierge rang, and delivered a letter on which there
was nothing to pay.
"A letter for madame," said Lizida, as she handed the missive to her
mistress. "Open it, madame; perhaps it's some good news. If somebody
should send you some money, how handily it would work in just now!"
"I don't expect any," said the baroness.
"An additional reason, madame; when one expects things, they don't come;
when one doesn't expect them, they come; and then, see what a lovely
square letter, with three wax seals."
"That is true."
"And the lovely handwriting; it is like copper-plate."
"Yes, it is probably some circular from a scrivener. However, let us see
what it is."
Madame de Grangeville had no sooner torn the envelope than several bank
notes fell out; she uttered a cry of surprise, while Mademoiselle Lizida
began to dance about the room, crying:
"What did I tell you, madame? Bank notes! fortune is smiling on us
again! oh joy!"
"One thousand, two thousand, five hundred--somebody has sent me two
thousand five hundred francs!"
"Good! we can go on for some time with that."
"By the way, Lizida, don't burn the mushroom boxes."
"That's so; we may use them again."
"Ah! here's a short letter with the notes; let me see who sends me this
money--'Madame, one of your old acquaintances, knowing that fortune is
not propitious at this moment, begs you to deign to accept this sum.
Every six months the same person will take the liberty of sending you
the same amount.'--And no signature."
"Every six months as much! that is rather nice; that makes five thousand
francs a year for madame.--Ah! there's an agreeable acquaintance. But
still, it doesn't surprise me; for madame is so kind, so noble, so
generous when she has money, that it's no more than fair that somebody
should treat her in the same way. I will bet that this comes from
someone whom you have previously benefited. Does madame know the
writing?"
"Dear me, no! the letter is written in the same hand as the address. It
is perfect writing--too good to be the writing of anyone who does not
make a business of it."
"So madame does not know, does not guess, from whom this money comes?"
"Oh! I guessed instantly. It's from the same man who obliged me once
before: dear De Merval! what a delicate creature! he does not want to
name himself now, he is afraid that I would refuse his help. Ah! how
that man loved me, Lizida! why didn't I marry him?"
"Oh! it's a gentleman who was once in love with madame, is it?"
"Yes, indeed, much in love!"
"In that case, madame, this means that he is still. He must be a fine
man! to send bank notes, and not even be willing to be thanked! there
are not many friends so unselfish."
Thanks to this gift, which Madame de Grangeville attributed to Monsieur
de Merval, that lady recovered her peace of mind. She had no more
anxiety for the future, and she could once more give all her attention
to her toilet, while Mademoiselle Lizida became as flattering as before.
It was a few days after this event that Madame de Grangeville received
the bouquet which Roncherolle sent her by Chicotin.
The name of Roncherolle could not fail to quicken the beating of the
woman's heart, who for that man's sake had lost the place in society
which she had occupied. For many years she had not heard her former
lover's name; she did not know whether he was still alive; and on
learning that he was in Paris, on receiving the bouquet which proved to
her that Roncherolle was still gallant, she fancied herself once more in
the days of her love-affairs; she persuaded herself that she had not
grown old, and she expected to find her lover still as deeply in love as
before.
But the gout had prevented the gallant from following the bouquet; and
in order not to allow the lady to think that he had forgotten her, we
have seen that he ordered Chicotin to call upon Madame de Grangeville
again and to present to her this time a bunch of violets.
"I am deeply touched by Monsieur de Roncherolle's souvenirs," the
baroness said to the young messenger. "But although I love bouquets,
say to him who sends you that I should much prefer to see him than these
flowers. Why does he not come himself?"
Chicotin did not reply: "Because he has the gout;" for Roncherolle had
forbidden him to mention that. He said whatever came into his head, and
returned to make a report of his errand.
But a few days later, Roncherolle, feeling able to walk, bent his steps
toward Madame de Grangeville's abode.
XXXVI
TWO FORMER LOVERS
"Madame, there is a gentleman here who wishes to see you," said Lizida
to her mistress one day.
"Did he give his name?"
"He would not; he says that he prefers to afford madame the pleasure of
recognizing him."
"It is Monsieur de Merval, no doubt--the same gentleman who came last
summer?"
"Oh, no! it's not that gentleman, madame; I should have recognized him.
It's one whom I never saw before."
"What sort of looking man? Has he a distinguished appearance? is he
stylishly dressed?"
"So far as being distinguished goes--yes, madame. He acts as if he was
in the habit of being waited on. As for his dress, why, his clothes
don't look as if they'd just come from the tailor's!"
"Arrange my cap, Lizida; does my hair look well?"
"Madame is pretty enough to paint."
"Well then, show the gentleman in; if by any chance it's the unknown
friend who sends me bank notes!"
"Oh! he doesn't look like it, madame; or else he's well disguised."
The maid left the room, and in a moment Roncherolle was ushered into his
old friend's presence.
Madame de Grangeville was seated on a _causeuse_, dressed in a pretty
morning gown, with a charming cap on her head, beneath which great
clusters of hair, curled _a la neige_, served as a frame to a face which
unfortunately could not be arranged like the hair. The days of privation
had left accursed traces which refused to disappear, despite cosmetics
and inventions of the perfumer. Wrinkles are most persistent
acquaintances; when they once visit us, they never go away.
Roncherolle had made himself as fine as possible; his linen was
extremely white, his whole costume scrupulously neat. Unluckily that
immaculate neatness could not prevent his coat's being threadbare, his
overcoat shabby and of an old-fashioned cut, his trousers of a color
that was no longer worn, his waistcoat very ragged on the edges, and his
hat much too glossy from overmuch brushing.
Despite all this, however, the former king of fashion presented himself
with his distinguished manners of long ago; but he dragged his left leg
a little, leaned heavily on his cane, and on removing his hat disclosed
a grizzled and almost bald head.
"Here I am, _belle dame_! It is I! Better late than never, eh?"
As he spoke, Roncherolle halted in front of Madame de Grangeville and
scrutinized her with a peculiar expression; on her side, that lady
examined closely and with an air of amazement the man before her, and
tried to think where she had seen him before.
"Well! can it be that you don't recognize me?" continued Roncherolle,
walking still nearer, the better to see the baroness; and he added, like
a person who fears that he has made a mistake:
"Surely it is Madame de Grangeville to whom I have the honor of
speaking?"
"Yes, monsieur; and you are----"
"De Roncherolle, at your service, if you will permit."
"Roncherolle; is it possible? is it really you?"
"Why, yes, it is really I, my dear Lucienne."
"Dear fellow! What a pleasure to see you again! Come and sit here,
beside me."
Roncherolle limped to the _causeuse_, saying to himself:
"_Bigre!_ how old she is! what a ruin!"
While the baroness thought:
"How he has changed! how ugly he has grown! I should never have known
him!"
"Tell me, my dear friend," said Roncherolle, making himself comfortable
on the _causeuse_, "didn't you expect a visit from me? Didn't you
receive my bouquets?"
"I beg pardon; indeed I expected you, and most impatiently, I assure
you; but the fact is----"
"That I am devilishly changed, eh? What can you expect? time spares no
one; and then the gout--that makes one suffer, it wears one out!"
"Have you had the gout?"
"Yes; indeed I have it now."
"That accounts for it then; I noticed in your gait something--that you
used not to have."
"I should say so; I limp like an old horse!"
"You have lost your hair too."
"I have lost a lot of things."
"You are no longer as slender as you used to be."
Roncherolle, beginning to be weary of these remarks, replied with his
ironical air, pretending to laugh:
"Ha! ha! what do you expect, my dear friend? We aren't either of us what
we were twenty years ago! You yourself haven't that wasp-like waist that
called forth universal admiration, and those irreproachable teeth that
drove all women to despair."
Madame de Grangeville flushed and bit her lips in anger. She tried,
however, to maintain an affable manner as she said:
"Ah! so you find me changed? That is strange; there are people who
declare that I am just the same."
"That is because those people haven't passed twelve years without seeing
you. But we two old friends, old acquaintances, have not met to flatter
each other. Bless me! we know each other too intimately and of too long
date not to be frank between ourselves. Poor Lucienne! ha! ha!"
"Well, monsieur! what makes you laugh like that, pray?"
"Because I am thinking; I remember that you used to ride like an angel
in the old days; and I myself was a very good horseman. We sat in our
saddles, I like Baucher, you like a bareback rider at the Hippodrome.
Well, just imagine us now if we should have to mount a horse!--Ha! ha!
ha!"
Madame de Grangeville made an impatient gesture and turned her head
away, saying to herself:
"Mon Dieu! what wretched _ton_ he has now!"
"But let us drop that, my dear, and talk of our affairs a little. We
parted twelve years ago--on rather bad terms, as I remember; but we were
still lovers then, and lovers often quarrel; at all events, two people
can't love each other forever--it grows monotonous. To-day there's no
question of all that; we are old friends, and you cannot doubt the
interest that I take in whatever concerns you."
"Interest! it seems to me, however, that you have displayed very little
interest in me. I have passed twelve years without a word from monsieur;
at that time my fortune was already much impaired, and since then I have
had time to become ruined altogether, to be reduced to a very
straitened, very embarrassing position; but have you troubled yourself
about it? Not the least in the world! And yet it seems to me, monsieur,
that if you had had any affection for me, if you had taken any interest
in me, you would have had an opportunity to prove it."
"Come, come, _belle dame_, let us not lose our tempers, and above all
let us not condemn without a hearing. You accuse me wrongfully. In the
first place, I supposed that you were still in comfortable circumstances
at least; and in the second place, I myself have not been for a long
time in a position to assist my friends. I did it often
formerly,--without reciprocity; but that would not have prevented me
from continuing to do it if fortune had permitted. But she turned her
back on me, she deserted me utterly; I treated her too cavalierly and
she bore me ill-will. I was unlucky in everything--cards, bets, races,
investments; it was impossible for me to retrieve myself in any
direction! And what remains now of a handsome property?--some claims on
which I can collect nothing, and a few wretched industrial stocks, which
I am obliged to sell in order to live, and which will soon be all gone;
that is where I am now; so that I can't think of others, being always
compelled to think of myself; that is reasonable."
"Ah! so you are reduced to that!" rejoined Madame de Grangeville coldly,
casting from time to time an inquisitive glance at the different parts
of her former lover's attire. "That is very sad. I understand now. I
said to myself: 'Why, Monsieur de Roncherolle, who was always so
elegant, so coquettish in his dress--why does he neglect himself so?'
But of course, if you can't do otherwise!"
Roncherolle bit his lips, swaying back and forth on the _causeuse_, and
replied:
"Oh! that is the least of my troubles! I attach little importance to
those trifles now. At our age, you see, my dear friend, coquetry serves
no purpose, unless it be to make us ridiculous! When the time has come,
it's no use to paint and bedeck ourselves--it doesn't take away either a
wrinkle or a year!"
"He has become painfully tiresome, has this man," thought Madame de
Grangeville, as she put a phial of salts to her nose. After a moment,
she rejoined with a nonchalant air:
"Thank heaven! everybody hasn't deserted me; I have some friends who
remember doubtless that I obliged them formerly, and one of them is
giving me an allowance of five thousand francs at this moment."
"The devil! that is handsome, that is very handsome! Is it a male or a
female friend who treats you in such magnificent fashion?"
"Mon Dieu! I have no idea! the person doesn't divulge his name; he
prefers to remain anonymous, in order not to be thanked even. Isn't that
a noble act?"
"Superb! and I regret exceedingly my inability to be the author of it.
But you must certainly be able to guess, despite the mystery with which
this person surrounds himself."
"No--that is to say, I have some suspicions, which I believe to be well
founded."
"Indeed! but it seems that you did not suspect me?"
"Oh, no! not for one moment!"
"That is very amiable on your part."
"You see that I was right."
"But you were not aware of my unfortunate plight."
"What does that matter? as if you would ever have thought of me!"
"That is an extraordinary reproach! It seems to me that I proved to you
abundantly that I thought of you in the old days."
"Yes, yes,--unfortunately.--Ah! if one could foresee what is going to
happen, if one could read the future!"
"True! there are lots of things that one would not do--that one bitterly
regrets having done!"
A long silence ensued. Madame de Grangeville broke it by exclaiming
suddenly:
"You could never guess whom I met in the country last summer--Monsieur
le Comte de Brevanne!"
"Really?"
"Yes, at a party, in a wood, where there were a great many people. I saw
him at a distance in the crowd; I saw that he was looking at me and that
he recognized me."
"Do you think so?"
"Do I think so! It was evident enough, for his manner was very agitated.
I too recognized him instantly; he has changed hardly at all, except
that his hair is turning gray; the face is still the same; he is
good-looking--yes, he is a very handsome man!"
"Had you never discovered that before?"
"What an unkind thing to say to me!"
"Well! did you speak?"
"No; I am inclined to think that he was strongly tempted to speak to me;
he hovered about me in the wood, and he was on the point of speaking to
me, I believe, when some people came up; they surrounded me, took me
away, and I lost sight of him. He must have gone away, for I didn't see
him again during the evening."
"And that is all?"
"Yes, all."
"Well, madame, I too have seen Brevanne, and not very long ago."
"Is it possible? Did you meet him?"
"No, he came to the house in which I was living, expressly to see me; he
had learned my address by chance."
"He came to see you--for what purpose?"
"Why, for the same purpose that led him to seek me everywhere twenty
years ago--to fight me."
"To fight you! nonsense! it's impossible!"
"Why impossible, I pray to know?"
"Because men don't fight after so long a time for things--which have no
present existence."
"Ah! very prettily put; I am sorry that your husband didn't hear it! But
although in fact the motive for fighting is lacking now--the present
existence--De Brevanne is still bent upon it--oh! obstinately bent upon
it. Probably he has been looking for me constantly, for twenty years;
and he had no sooner learned where I was--was perched, than he rushed to
the spot, the same as ever, waving his sword, to demand satisfaction.
But as I was suffering then from a violent attack of the gout, the sight
of my agony convinced him that I was not in condition to stand up to
him; so he granted me a respite."
"Then it is only postponed; you will end by fighting, I see."
"I admire the stoicism of your nature; you say that as if you were
talking about your husband and myself going to the Opera ball!"
"Mon Dieu! you have become very censorious, very severe! Should I weep
when I say it?"
"No; indeed that is not your nature; you were never very tearful. To
make you shed tears it would be necessary that your hair should be
unbecomingly dressed at a large party; and that is an accident to which
you were never likely to be exposed."
"You are still satirical, caustic, as always, Monsieur de Roncherolle!"
"If you find anything about me that has not changed, I am delighted
beyond measure."
"A truce to jesting, monsieur; when is this duel to take place? I beg
you to believe that I am deeply interested."
"Don't be alarmed, madame, the duel will not take place. I am as
obstinate as De Brevanne. I have sworn not to afford him the chagrin of
killing me, and I shall keep my oath."
"The chagrin! so you think that the count would regret it if he should
kill you?"
"I am sure of it; and it would be even worse now than if he had killed
me long ago."