find him, do you understand? And if anything should happen to you, think
of your mother, and of me. Would you like to kill us with grief?
Besides, I never see him now, he never passes my booth."
"And he does well! for if I should see him pass--But I don't know where
he keeps himself now; no one ever sees him anywhere; Chicotin isn't any
luckier than I am. I went to his lodgings, but he had moved; no one
knows where he lives now; he must have left the quarter."
"I beg of you, Georget, do not look for that man any more; if you do,
you will make me very unhappy. Do you think that I haven't had sorrow
enough?"
"I am done, mamzelle; I will obey you. But you see, I am past eighteen
now, I am no longer a child, and I don't propose that anyone shall say
anything about you!"
A month passed, during which Violette went every week to take a bouquet
to Madame de Grangeville, who was still persuaded that it was Monsieur
de Merval to whom she owed that attention. When the young flower girl
returned from Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, Monsieur de Brevanne inquired
particularly what had taken place between her and Madame de Grangeville;
he insisted that the young girl should repeat the most trivial words of
their conversation. He did not understand how the baroness could fail to
show more interest in Violette, more curiosity to know something about
her; that indifference surprised him, for it seemed to him that a secret
voice must have spoken to the baroness's heart, and led her to think
that the girl was her child.
One morning, Monsieur de Brevanne betook himself to Boulevard du Chateau
d'Eau, with the purpose of sending Violette to Madame de Grangeville
again; but the flower girl was not in her place. Fearing that she might
be sick, the count was about to return home, in order to send Georget to
inquire for Violette, when, as he turned, he saw her approaching with
her flowers.
"You thought that I was lazy, did you not, monsieur?" said Violette as
she curtsied to the count, "but don't scold me, it isn't that."
"In the first place, my child, I never think anything bad of you; but I
was afraid that you might not be feeling well."
"Oh, no! monsieur, it isn't I who am sick; it's a poor gentleman--if you
only knew how he suffers! it makes one's heart ache!"
"Is it some one whom you know?"
"It is a neighbor of mine, a gentleman who lives in the same house, just
below me, and who, when I was sick some time ago, was kind enough to
come up to see me, to take an interest in me, and to order a medicine
which cured me; and then he came sometimes to sit with me; so that it is
quite natural now that I should try to be of some use to him, is it not,
monsieur?"
"Certainly, and no one could blame you for it, my child."
"Besides that, I have an idea that this gentleman--oh! he won't admit
it, but I am inclined to think that he is short of money, and that he
can't supply himself with all that he needs to cure himself."
"Do you think so? But, if he is a worthy man, if he deserves, as you
say, to be aided, we will come to his assistance."
"Oh! that won't be easy, I tell you, monsieur; for, you see, he is very,
very proud, and won't allow anyone to lend him money. I was unfortunate
enough last night to propose to go and order a prescription which the
doctor had left for him. He said to me: 'How are you going to pay for
it? I haven't given you any money.' I answered: 'Dear me! that doesn't
make any difference; I have some money, and you can pay me back.'--At
that, he shouted at me almost angrily: 'I don't propose to have anyone
lend me money! I haven't asked you for it, I don't need any medicine,
and I won't have it, I won't have anything!'--And it isn't possible to
make him listen to reason. Aside from that, he is very good-natured, and
whenever his pain grows a little less, he always has something amusing
to say. The fact is, that he has a very _comme il faut_ manner, like
you, monsieur; and perhaps he was once rich like you."
"What is the matter with him?"
"Gout, so he says."
"Gout?--and his name--do you know his name?"
"Yes, his name is Monsieur de Roncherolle."
"Roncherolle!"
The count repeated the name with such evident surprise and agitation
that the girl was terrified.
"What is the matter, monsieur?" she stammered; "does that name also
recall painful memories? Do you know my unfortunate neighbor?"
"Yes, yes, my child, I do know him; but be very careful not to speak to
him of me, not to mention my name before him, for you would simply
aggravate his trouble."
"Very well, monsieur, I will be careful.--But, monsieur, does it make
you angry that I go to take care of my neighbor when I have time?"
"No, Violette, no, no! on the contrary, devote yourself to this Monsieur
de Roncherolle; far from blaming you for it, I urge you to do it; it is
your duty, for it is always a duty to help one's neighbor. But listen to
me: if, while talking, this gentleman should question you about your
family,--I mean, concerning what you know as to the manner in which you
were given in charge to your nurse,--don't tell him any more than you
have told Madame de Grangeville."
"I will remember, monsieur."
"All this must seem very strange to you; but pray believe that it is for
your own welfare that I advise you to act thus."
"Oh! you tell me to do it, monsieur, and that is enough for me; have I
not placed all my confidence in you?"
"I will reward you for it, my child. Au revoir."
"Are you going, monsieur? have you no orders for me? don't you want me
to carry a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville to-day?"
"No, no; it is better that you should make haste to sell your flowers
and return to do what you can for Monsieur de Roncherolle. Madame de
Grangeville can do without flowers, but the man who is suffering cannot
do without help."
The count left the young flower girl and returned home deep in thought,
saying to himself:
"I see the finger of Providence in all this. Now this girl passes a part
of each day with her father--and her mother, and she does not know them!
Ought I to make them known to her? Are they worthy of her affection, of
her love?--Guide me, oh God, and show me where my duty lies."
XLI
A NEW WAY OF OBTAINING REVENGE
The weather was cold and dull, and a fall of snow ending in rain added
to the discomfort of a penetrating dampness. But the fireplace of the
small room in which Roncherolle lay contained only two small sticks,
which had been laid near together, but which imparted no heat to the
room.
Roncherolle was suffering horribly with his gout, and as he was alone,
he did not hesitate to complain in very energetic fashion; despite his
resolutions to be philosophical, pain sometimes won the victory over his
courage; but when Violette was with him he did his utmost to conceal his
suffering.
The young girl came in; she held in one hand a tea-pot, in the other a
cup and a sugar-bowl full of sugar; she approached the invalid and
placed all those objects on the table beside his bed.
"Here I am, monsieur; I'm a little late this morning, perhaps, but I
wanted to make this tea that was ordered for you, before I came down; I
have brought it with me; it's scalding hot, and you must drink it."
Roncherolle dissembled his agony and tried to smile at Violette, as he
said to her:
"How good you are, my child! how kind to a person whom you hardly know,
and who has no claim upon your interest!"
"No claim! well, upon my word! when I was sick, didn't you come to see
me? And you didn't know me at all! I should be very ungrateful if I did
not do for you what you did for me."
"But such a difference; in the first place, you were hardly sick at all;
and then it is always a pleasure to make oneself useful to a young lady;
whereas a sick old man is not an agreeable object."
"Oh, yes! you are very agreeable, when you are not in too much pain; you
always have stories and adventures to tell us.--But how are you feeling
this morning?"
"Still about the same; a little better, perhaps."
"No, I see by your face that you suffered terribly during the night,
that you are suffering still!"
"No; when you are here, I suffer less."
"Very well; then you should let me pass the night with you, as I wanted
to."
"God forbid that you should go without sleep on my account, and be sick
again perhaps. I won't have it; and besides, my dear neighbor, there's
nothing to be done for the disease that I have--one simply must know how
to suffer."
"I don't believe that myself; there must be remedies for everything.
Drink this now. Here, sweeten it to suit yourself."
"This is strange; this sugar-bowl is full, and yet I remember that there
were only a few pieces in it yesterday."
Violette turned her face away as she replied:
"Oh! you were--you had some more--in a paper, and I put it with the
other."
Roncherolle looked at the girl, but she was busily engaged in putting
the room in order.--Chicotin arrived at that moment, with a red nose,
and beating his hands together.
"Good-morning, bourgeois and the company," he cried. "How does it go
this morning, bourgeois?"
"Not very well, my boy."
"Mere Lamort told me to tell you that she couldn't come up this morning;
Mirontaine has swallowed a bone that stuck in his throat, so that he
ain't able to bark and watch the door."
"Oh! bless my soul! we don't need the concierge," said Violette; "am I
not here?"
"But you have your business that demands your attention, my child," said
Roncherolle, "and I don't propose that you shall neglect your business
for me; in fact, it's already late, I think, and you should be at your
stand."
"No, monsieur, it isn't late; and anyway this isn't a market day, and in
such weather as this, I am in no hurry; I shouldn't sell anything, for
there won't be anyone out of doors."
"It's beastly weather, that's true enough!" cried Chicotin; "and cold!
why, my nose and fingers are frozen stiff. But it ain't very warm in
your room either, bourgeois; _bigre!_ it's just the same as being on
the boulevard."
"Well, stir up the fire, put on some wood."
"I ask nothing better."
Chicotin looked in all directions, then went into the outer room, and
returned in a moment, saying:
"There's one little difficulty, bourgeois, and that is that I don't find
any wood; the wood pile seems to have gone up in smoke."
"Already! the devil! the wood seems to go faster than the sugar!"
"Oh! that's easy to understand--it's dearer, because--look you,
bourgeois, here's a comparison: for fifteen sous, you get three or four
sticks of wood; they're bigger than a pound of sugar, to be sure, but
they're very soon burned up; in one day they're all gone; whereas, with
a pound of sugar, you've got something to lap and sip for a long while!"
"I'll do without fire," said Roncherolle. "Lying in bed, I don't need
it, and my little neighbor is going away."
"What a bungling fellow you are, Chicotin!" said Violette to the young
messenger, in an undertone; "you shouldn't have said anything, but when
you saw that there wasn't any wood in the other room, you should have
gone up to my room; you would have found some there. You know that
Monsieur de Roncherolle isn't willing that anybody should lend him
anything, so we must help him without letting him suspect it; and I
don't propose that he shall stay without a fire."
"That is true, I am an idiot!" muttered Chicotin, shaking his head; "but
bless my soul! I couldn't guess all that. Never mind, don't worry, I'll
fix it all right; I'll find some way to make a fire."
"Monsieur," said the girl, returning to the invalid, "if I remember
right, the doctor who came to see you yesterday prescribed medicine for
your gout."
"Doctors don't know of any remedy for this disease, my neighbor; several
of them have told me this themselves when talking with me."
"Nonsense! I have been told of several people who were entirely cured;
and I remember now--it was syrup of _Boubee_ that he told you to take."
"That is quite possible."
"I beg you, monsieur, take some of it; even if it should do nothing but
lessen the pain, would that not be a great gain?"
"As you insist upon it, I will take some."
"If you are willing, monsieur, I won't stay long in my booth to-day, and
I will bring you some in a little while when I come home."
"No, no, my little neighbor, I won't have it; for you never tell me the
price of things; you manage so that they cost me almost nothing. But I
don't propose to have that, and I shall be angry if you go on acting in
that way; I shall be obliged to deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing
you."
"Oh! it wouldn't do any good for you to forbid me to come, monsieur; I
should come all the same!"
Violette said this with such heartfelt earnestness that Roncherolle felt
the tears gather in his eyes. He pressed the girl's hand and replied in
a cheerful tone:
"I will obey you, neighbor; come, Chicotin, my groom, come here."
"Here I am, bourgeois."
"Go to the druggist's on the corner of the boulevard, and ask for some
syrup of Boubee. Will you remember that name?"
"I should say so; it isn't hard to remember. Syrup of Poupee."
"Boubee, you idiot! not Poupee."
"Oh! very good."
"Wait; I prefer to write it for you."
"On the whole, that will be better; my tongue might slip again."
"Here you are; and take that two-franc piece there--upon my table; I am
inclined to believe that that will be enough."
"Let us hope so! a paltry syrup--that can't cost so much as that; for
two francs you could get a lot of molasses.--I will go right away,
bourgeois."
"Aren't you going to your stand, my little neighbor?" Roncherolle asked
Violette, who was stooping in front of the fire, trying to make the two
sticks burn by putting under them all the old papers that were lying
about the room.
"In a minute, neighbor; I will wait until Chicotin comes back."
"And your love-affairs, my child, how do they come on? You are fully
reconciled with your young lover now, I hope?"
"Yes, monsieur. Oh! Georget loves me dearly; he comes to see me every
day at my booth, and I am very happy, except when he frightens me."
"What's that? your lover frightens you?"
"You will understand, monsieur; Georget has never forgotten the
abominable remarks that that Monsieur Jericourt made about me, and the
trap he led me into; but, monsieur, you don't know--Georget says that he
will kill Monsieur Jericourt."
"He is right; he is a fine fellow; in his place, I would do the same."
"But I don't want him to fight; for, after all, monsieur, the man who is
in the right doesn't always win; and if Georget were killed, I should be
very unhappy."
"You are right; that boy must not take the risk; he is so
young--eighteen, did you tell me?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then he probably doesn't know anything about the sword or the pistol?"
"Nothing at all; he would be killed instantly."
"Patience, my little neighbor. Corbleu! if only I could get well!--But I
hear Chicotin, I believe."
The young messenger returned with a sheepish expression, holding the
two-franc piece in his hand.
"Well, where is the syrup, Chicotin?" asked Roncherolle.
"The syrup is at the druggist's, monsieur."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that it's an outrage! Just fancy that a little bottle no bigger
than my wrist costs twelve francs!"
"Twelve francs?"
"Yes, monsieur, syrup of Poupee twelve francs, no less; it wasn't any
use for me to say: 'Put me up forty sous' worth in a little pomade box';
he laughed in my face and told me they didn't sell it at retail; he
showed me a bottle, all sealed, with the price on it. Then I said: 'If
the gout can only be cured at that price, only rich people can be
cured!'--'Only rich people have the gout,' said the clerk. I say,
bourgeois, that's nonsense, ain't it? For it seems to me that you're
none too well fixed."
Violette nudged Chicotin, saying in an undertone:
"You ought to have said that the syrup wasn't ready, and I would have
gone out and bought it and paid for it without letting Monsieur de
Roncherolle know the price."
"He would have found it out all the same, mamzelle, for the price is
pasted on the bottle; it wouldn't have been possible to deceive him, and
how he would have sworn then!"
Roncherolle had dropped his head on the pillow, and said nothing more.
Chicotin handed him the two-franc piece, saying:
"Shall I buy anything else with this, bourgeois?"
"You may buy some wood, my boy, and make a fire; but not until evening;
for my little neighbor comes to sit with me in the evening, and I don't
want her to freeze in my room.--Now leave me, my children; I don't want
anything more, and I am going to try to sleep."
Violette pressed the invalid's hand and went out, with a feeling of
oppression at her heart; Chicotin followed her, muttering:
"Poor dear man, not to be able to buy what might cure him; it ain't very
gay here; but never mind, I will come back soon and see if he wants
something else that don't cost so much."
"And you won't spend his two francs, will you, Chicotin? you must get
some wood in my room."
"Yes, mamzelle, but what shall I do with his money? I can't give it back
to him."
"Keep it; it will serve to buy something else which may be dearer still;
and you mustn't tell him, as you did to-day. To think of his being
without a fire, in such cold weather, and when he is suffering so! for
to-day I could see on his face the efforts he made to conceal his
suffering; why, it makes me want to cry!"
"After all, Mamzelle Violette, you mustn't feel so bad for somebody who
ain't anything to you."
"Oh! he is so wretched, without relations, or friends, sick and poor;
and then there are people for whom you feel affection right away; and
Georget won't be jealous of him; I feel that I have a sincere affection
for him."
"I am going to see if Mirontaine is cured, and if Madame Lamort can go
up."
Violette had been at her stand for some time, when Monsieur de Brevanne
came there and inquired about her neighbor. The girl gave him an exact
description of his plight; she concealed nothing from him, neither his
suffering, nor the privations which he was obliged to undergo, nor the
pride which made him refuse any assistance in the form of money.
"He has no fire now," said Violette, her eyes wet with tear; "and he
isn't willing that we should make him one before evening, because I go
to sit with him in the evening, poor man! and he did not have the money
to buy something that might perhaps have cured him.--Ah! he is very
unfortunate!"
The count listened attentively to the girl's story; Roncherolle's
position touched him more than he chose to show. He stood for some time
buried in thought, then he said to Violette:
"I would like to judge for myself of this gentleman's plight, of his
situation, but I should not want him to see me."
"That is very easy, monsieur; in the first place, Monsieur de
Roncherolle never leaves his bed, and a person can stand in the outer
room and look into the other without his seeing him; in the second
place, he often sleeps, and I am always careful not to wake him."
"Well, I will go this evening, I will go to see you, with Georget."
"Oh! how kind it is of you, monsieur! I am very sure that you will have
compassion on my poor neighbor."
"On your account--it is possible.--But not a word concerning me, my
child!"
"Oh! I am dumb, monsieur; but I am very glad that you are coming to see
my neighbor."
About eight o'clock in the evening, Violette was installed in
Roncherolle's room; he had been dozing for some time, and when he woke,
his eyes met those of the young girl, who, as she mended her neighbor's
linen, glanced at him often to see if he were asleep.
"Really, my dear child," said Roncherolle, "your kindness to me fills me
with gratitude, and reconciles me to your sex; for, if I must admit it,
I had but a very slight esteem for women."
"Why so, monsieur? have they injured you?"
"Not exactly; but they are responsible for my having injured others, and
that amounts to the same thing."
"Why no, monsieur, if they didn't advise you to do it."
"They do not need to advise us to make fools of ourselves; they lead us
into it easily enough without that."
"I don't understand, monsieur."
"So much the better for you, my child.--But what are you doing there?
God forgive me, I believe that you are patching my rags!"
"Well! I had nothing to do, and I like to be busy; I thought that it
wouldn't offend you if I should take a few stitches in your linen."
"Offend me! ah! my dear girl, you are too kind to me; one does not take
offence with those who are so kind to them. Ah me! when I think----"
Here Roncherolle paused and heaved a profound sigh. Violette looked up
at him and said:
"What are you thinking about, monsieur, that makes you sigh so? You
mustn't think of melancholy things when you are sick."
"I am thinking, my dear child, that I might have with me--my own
daughter,--who, however, I am sure, would take no better care of me than
you do."
"Your daughter! what, monsieur, you have a daughter, and she is not with
you when you are ill and suffering!"
"If she is not with me, it is not her fault,--it is mine."
"Ah! then it is you who have sent her away, and she is not in Paris, of
course?"
"No, she is not in Paris."
"Why don't you write for her to come, to join you?"
"I don't want to disturb her."
"How old is your daughter?"
"Nineteen."
"Why, that is just my age!"
"Ah! you are nineteen? And what about your parents? I never see them
with you. But I remember now, that you told me that you had lost them."
"I never knew my parents, monsieur; I am an abandoned child!"
"Abandoned! is it possible? what a strange coincidence!--Were you
abandoned in Paris?"
Violette, remembering the count's injunction, replied hesitatingly:
"Why--I don't know, monsieur; I--I think so."
"Poor child, what a pity! her parents do not realize what a treasure
they cast away."
Roncherolle buried his face in his pillow, murmuring:
"But my child--I do not know her; perhaps she too is lovely and good!
ah! if I could only find her! But no! why should I wish to? to force her
to share my destitution?--No, it is better as it is."
The invalid dropped asleep. Violette was anxiously awaiting that moment,
for she had heard noises in the outer room for several moments, and she
guessed who it might be. As soon as she was certain that Roncherolle was
asleep, she arose and softly opened the door of the other room, where
she found Monsieur de Brevanne and Georget.
"My neighbor is asleep; you may come in, monsieur," said Violette to the
count.
"You are quite sure that he is asleep, my child?"
"Yes, monsieur. You can tell by listening to him, his breathing is so
difficult. Poor man! it seems that he has suffered terribly all day, and
he is taking advantage of a little respite from pain, to rest."
"But you were talking just now."
"Yes, monsieur.--Oh! if you knew--he has a daughter, the poor man, and
he said that he bitterly regretted not having her with him."
"Oho! he spoke to you of his daughter, did he?"
"Yes, monsieur; can you imagine that she does not come to take care of
him, her father, when he is sick?"
"Did he tell you why she was not with him?"
"No, monsieur; he simply said that it was his fault.--But come in,
monsieur; he is sound asleep."
"Yes, I will come in. Stay here, my child, and talk with Georget; but
don't talk too loud."
"No, there's no danger of that, monsieur," said Georget; "we understand
each other perfectly well simply by looking at each other."
The count entered the room occupied by Roncherolle. A single tallow
candle, which was badly in need of snuffing, lighted that room with a
dim, uncertain light; it enabled the visitor, however, to distinguish a
cheap wall paper, torn or lacking altogether in several places; a window
with large cracks, and without curtains, in which one pane was broken,
its place being ill supplied by paper; two or three pieces of cheap
black walnut furniture; a painted cot, on which was a coarse flock bed
and a very thin mattress; on the mantel, a small mirror in a wooden
frame, and on the hearth two tiny bits of wood, which were hardly
burning.
Everything in that abode indicated poverty and privation; and the cold
that one felt there, the wind that one could hear whistling in all
directions, heightened the melancholy impression which one was certain
to feel at finding an invalid in such a place.
Monsieur de Brevanne noticed and scrutinized everything; then he walked
to the bed and gazed at Roncherolle, whose features were more than ever
changed by suffering and want, and who, even in his sleep, seemed to be
struggling with pain.