“Come up with me a moment; it will please her.”
I followed him. The girl was lying in her bed, which in truth did not
seem to be very soft; however she had, in addition to her ordinary bed,
the mattress that her lover had brought. The midwife was seated in the
armchair, the magnificence of which was in striking contrast to the few
pieces of furniture with which the room was supplied; she had her feet
on a foot-warmer, although she was sitting directly in front of the
fireplace; to be sure, the fire was a very modest one. There was
nothing about the woman to indicate sensibility; one could see that she
was there to practise her profession and that was all; and from her
unamiable expression and the glances that she cast about her, I could
see that the poverty of the room made her apprehensive that she would
not be well paid for her services; however, she had agreed to pass the
night there, and the young man was very grateful to her.
Ernest walked very softly to the bed; but the girl instantly held out
her hand to him, saying:
“Oh! I am not asleep, I have no desire to sleep; but I am very
comfortable now. The only thing is that I am afraid it will tire you to
sit up all night; you are just getting over a sickness yourself, and you
are not strong yet. Go home; you know that I am out of danger; the
doctor said so, and since madame will stay----”
“Oh, yes, I will stay,” said the midwife, in a sour tone, “although it
puts me out; but still--great heaven! how cold it is in this room! the
wind blows everywhere. A fine fire that! just two sticks! ain’t there
even a pair of bellows here?”
Ernest hastily fetched the bellows, and handed them to the woman; then
he returned to the bed, saying:
“You must know, my love, that I shall not leave you. But here is
Monsieur Blémont, who was good enough to go out to call a doctor, when
he came up an hour ago; we haven’t so much as thought of thanking him.”
“Ah! that is true, my dear.--I beg pardon, monsieur, pray excuse me; but
I was in such pain then----”
“You owe me no thanks, for it was not I who found your doctor.”
“No matter,” said Ernest, “you showed some interest in us, and I shall
never forget it.”
“What a miserable pair of bellows! Not two sous’ worth of wind! it must
be pleasant here in freezing weather!”
I turned toward the woman; I should have liked to impose silence upon
her, for it seemed to me that her indiscreet remarks must be painful to
the two lovers. But I was mistaken; they were not listening to her.
Ernest was holding his darling’s hand, and she was gazing lovingly into
his eyes; after their fear of an eternal separation, it seemed to them
that they had recovered each other. They were entirely absorbed in their
love. But Marguerite sighed, and after a moment I heard her whisper to
Ernest:
“What a pity, my dear! it was a boy!”
Poor child! although hardly able to keep herself alive, she wanted a
child, because every woman is proud to be a mother, and a child is an
additional bond between her and her lover.
I was about to leave them when there was a loud noise outside; it was a
crash of broken glass, and it seemed to be on the roof near the window
of the chamber in which we were.
The midwife uttered a cry of terror, and ran behind me, exclaiming:
“It’s thieves! did you hear, monsieur? They’re coming in the window. We
must rouse the whole house.”
I confess that I shared the opinion of the nurse, and I was about to
open the window to see what was afoot, when Marguerite, who, instead of
showing signs of alarm, had smiled faintly, motioned to me to stop, and
said to us:
“Don’t be alarmed, I know what it is; I am used to that noise now; it is
my neighbor, Monsieur Pettermann, going into his room.”
“Who on earth is Monsieur Pettermann, and why does he make such a noise
going into his room?” asked the midwife.
“Monsieur Pettermann is a tailor, and works in his room; but he gets
drunk at least three times a week; on those days he always loses his
door key; then he climbs out on the gutter under the window of the
landing and crawls along, at the risk of breaking his neck, to his own
window, puts his fist through a pane so that he can throw back the
catch, and gets into his room that way. Ask Ernest if we haven’t heard
him do it more than a dozen times.”
I could not help laughing at Monsieur Pettermann’s habits, while the
nurse exclaimed:
“Oh! the idiot! he gave me a fright. The idea of walking on a gutter!
and when he is drunk, too!”
“If he was sober, madame, he probably wouldn’t take the risk.”
“But some day this neighbor of yours will break his neck.”
“So I have often told him. The day after, when he has his window mended,
he swears that it shall never happen again. The concierge has already
threatened to warn him out if he doesn’t enter by his door, and doesn’t
come home earlier.”
At that moment we heard someone storming and swearing on the landing.
Monsieur Pettermann, having entered his room, had succeeded in opening
his door, which was fastened only by a spring lock.
“Perhaps he wants a light,” said Marguerite; “it very seldom happens
that he asks me for anything; but he may have seen that we haven’t gone
to bed here.”
We heard a knock at the door, and a hoarse voice stuttered:
“I say, neighbor, haven’t you g--g--gone to bed, n--n--neighbor? What
would you s--s--say if I should ask you to l--l--light my little
c--c--candle-end?”
I was curious to see neighbor Pettermann, and before Ernest had had time
to drop Marguerite’s hand, I opened the door.
The tailor was still young, with a frank, honest face; but the habit of
drinking too much had made his nose purple and swollen, and his dress
was marked by a lack of order which also betrayed his intemperance.
On seeing me, he opened his eyes and said:
“Hello! have I made a mistake? This is funny. Ain’t this my neighbor’s
door, or has she moved?”
“No, monsieur,” said Ernest, “but don’t shout so loud; she is sick. What
do you want?”
“Ah! she is sick, is she, poor little woman!” And Monsieur Pettermann
walked toward the bed, saying: “Are you sick, my little woman? What’s
the matter with you?”
Ernest stopped the tailor, who was reeking with liquor; and he, always
very polite, although tipsy, fearing that he had done something wrong,
stepped back to the armchair in which the midwife was seated, and sank
upon her lap, saying:
“I beg pardon, that’s so; it’s none of my business. Ah! prout!”
“Will you get up?” cried the nurse, striking the tailor in the back. He
turned about, stammering:
“Ah! I was sitting on one of the fair sex, although I hadn’t a suspicion
of it.--Excuse me, my little woman, I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.”
“Give me your candle and let me light it for you,” said Ernest; “for
that is what you want, I have no doubt.”
“Yes, neighbor, if you would be so kind. I couldn’t use my flint because
I scratched my right hand a little, while getting into my room.”
Not until then did we notice that the poor fellow’s right hand was
covered with blood, two of his fingers being badly cut. The girl pointed
to a closet in which there were some rags, with which Ernest hastily
bandaged the tailor’s hand. He made no objection, but said:
“Oh, mon Dieu! it’s nothing at all, a trifle. I don’t know what was the
matter to-night, but I broke two panes instead of one.”
“But Monsieur Pettermann, don’t you ever propose to give up your habit
of going into your room through the window?”
“What would you have me do? I lose my key--these keys slip out of your
pocket without your knowing it, and besides, I believe my pocket has a
hole in it. But I promise you that I’ll look after it now, especially as
it is going to be hard for me to sew it up.”
“Here’s your candle.”
“Many thanks. Good-night all. Better health to you, neighbor. If you
ever need my services, call on me; don’t hesitate.”
“Thanks, thanks, Monsieur Pettermann.”
“No, don’t hesitate; call me; it will be a pleasure to me.”
The tailor returned to his room. I thought that the young invalid must
have need of rest, so I too left the room after wishing them good-night.
But I wanted to say something to Ernest alone. He escorted me downstairs
with the light. When we were both in front of my door, I stopped and
looked at him, and I held my peace; for I really did not know how to
broach the subject.
Ernest, who did not suspect that I wished to say anything to him, wished
me good-night and was about to go upstairs. I caught his arm to detain
him; I felt that I must make up my mind to speak.
“Monsieur Ernest, I am delighted to have become better acquainted with
you; I hope that our acquaintance will not stop here.”
“I thank you, monsieur. I hope so too. I tell you again that I shall not
forget your interest in my grief to-night. There are so many people who
would have laughed at my distress, and who would have blamed it.”
“Such people never see in love-affairs anything more than momentary
pleasure; the moment any pain enters into them, they think they should
be broken off.”
“Ah, yes! you are quite right. But good-night, I must go.”
“One moment more. I wanted to say to you--First of all, I pray you,
excuse me; I trust that what I am going to say will not offend you.
Young men can afford to speak frankly. Although I am five or six years
older than you, I remember very well that when I was eighteen, and was
still living with my parents, I was sometimes sorely embarrassed to give
presents to my mistress. Now listen: your young friend has met with an
accident that will entail expenses which you did not expect so soon. A
young man who lives with his parents is sometimes short of money. Allow
me to offer you my purse. You can repay me when you are able.”
Ernest shook my hand warmly as he replied:
“I thank you for your offer, Monsieur Blémont; it does not offend me,
for I do not consider it a crime to be short of money, and I will not
make a pretence of being well supplied with it, for that would give you
a poor idea of my heart, after seeing that poor child’s bedroom. My
parents are well-to-do, as you know; but they treat me very harshly,
because I do not do absolutely what they would like. They think also
that at my age, a young man should not want to spend money upon a
mistress. Perhaps they are not wrong, after all. I assure you, however,
that the privations which Marguerite and I suffer, far from lessening
our love, do in fact increase it. Should we not become attached to a
person in proportion to what she has suffered for our sake? Marguerite
is so young and so pretty, that, if she chose, she could have wealthy
lovers with whom she would enjoy all the luxuries of life; she prefers
to remain poor with me. But we are not to be pitied for that, for we
love each other better than money. However, this embarrassment will only
be temporary, I hope; I have two plays accepted, and if they are
successful----”
“Then you accept my offer?”
“Oh, no! I never borrow money when I am not certain of being able to
return it. That is a principle from which I shall never depart.”
“But when you have plays accepted, which are going to be produced----”
“A play is never a certainty; it is a cast of the dice. I thank you a
thousand times; but I have something left with which to face the
present. As for the future, we will hope, we will build castles in the
air.”
“I am sorry that you refuse.”
“And I am very glad that you have made the offer, for you are the first
one of my friends to suggest anything of that sort, and yet you have
been my friend for only a few hours.”
“It is a fact that one often passes his life with people to whom he
gives the name of friends, but who have none of the feelings of a
friend.”
“Good-night, Monsieur Blémont. If you have time to come up for a moment
to-morrow, we shall be glad to see you.”
“Yes, I will come to enquire for my neighbor. Good-night.”
Ernest went up to the fifth floor and I went into my room.
V