I went next day to visit my neighbor on the fifth floor and found her
alone with her lover; the midwife was no longer there; Ernest had taken
her place, no less from inclination than from necessity; for the lovers
were happier not to have a third person with them all day, and what
would be a privation to others is a satisfaction to lovers.
Ernest was seated beside his friend’s bed; I was afraid that I was in
the way, and I intended to remain only a moment, but my visit lasted
more than an hour. “Pray don’t go yet,” they said every time that I rose
to take my leave. Why was it that the time passed so quickly, that we
got along so well together? It was because we all three allowed our real
sentiments to appear, because we talked freely of the things that
interested us, and because we poured out our hearts without reserve.
Marguerite spoke of the child that she hoped for, and her eyes, fastened
on Ernest’s, seemed to say to him:
“We can make up for this lost time, can we not?”
Ernest smiled and spoke encouragingly to her; then talked about his two
plays that had been accepted; they were his children, too. For my part,
I talked to them of the theatre, balls, and love-affairs. I told them,
without mentioning any names, the adventure of Bélan and Hélène. That
made them laugh heartily. I was not aware that I spoke with more
interest of Mademoiselle Dumeillan than of others; but when I mentioned
her name, I noticed that Mademoiselle Marguerite smiled and that Ernest
did the same.
At last, after one of my anecdotes, Ernest said to me:
“My dear Monsieur Blémont, I should say that you were in love.”
“In love! I! with whom, pray?”
“Parbleu! with the fair-haired young lady who talks so well, who plays
the piano so charmingly, who has such a sweet expression.”
“What! Have I said so to you?”
“No, but we guessed it from the way in which you talked of her; didn’t
we, Marguerite?”
“Yes, yes; you are certainly in love with the young lady in pink.”
“Oh! I give you my word that----”
“Don’t swear, monsieur; you would not tell the truth.”
“Mademoiselle Eugénie is very pretty, it is true; but I hardly know
her.”
“Acquaintance is easily made.”
“I do not know whether those ladies would care to receive me. By the
way, what you say suggests to me the idea of going to see Monsieur
Giraud and talking with him about it. Perhaps he won’t be fussing over
his lamps to-day. I think that I will go there; I will lead the
conversation to the subject of those ladies, as if unpremeditated.”
“That is right: go; then you must come back and tell us how you
progress.”
I confess that the devoted love of those two young people made me long
to enjoy a similar happiness. Perhaps the thought of the charming
Eugénie had much influence upon my reflections. I was twenty-six years
old, and I was already weary of commonplace love-affairs. Still it is
very amusing to have three or four mistresses and to deceive them all,
at the same time; to have them make a row, follow you, watch you,
threaten you, and become more passionately enamored of you with each
infidelity. And the poor husbands that you make--Oh! they are most
amusing too! But amid all such enjoyments, it seemed to me that my heart
was sometimes conscious of a void. Did not Ernest and Marguerite enjoy a
more genuine happiness than I? I did not know, but I proposed to try it
and find out.
I had eight thousand francs a year. That is not a fortune, but it is a
competence. Moreover, I had gone through the regular course of study and
had been admitted to be an advocate; that was something; to be sure, I
had not tried many cases since I had been entitled to wear the gown.
Pleasure had too often diverted my thoughts from my profession; but if I
married, I should be more virtuous; indeed, I should have to be.
My father was dead; he also had been at the bar. He left me an honorable
name, which I made it my pride to keep without stain; for one may have
three or four mistresses at once without impairing one’s honor;
especially when one has neither violence nor seduction with which to
reproach oneself; and God be praised! we live in an age when it is easy
to make love without resorting to such methods. I know very well that it
is not strictly moral to deceive husbands. But example is so
contagious! and then there are so many of those gentry who neglect their
wives! Is it not natural to console them?
My mother, who passed her summers in the country, and her winters in
Paris at a whist table, would certainly be very glad to have me married;
she had three thousand francs a year which would come to me some day;
but I never thought of that; when one loves one’s parents, one must
always hope that they will not die.
I indulged in these reflections, I could not say why. After all, I had
no purpose of marrying, or at all events of entering into one of those
marriages which are arranged beforehand by parents or friends. If I
married, I should have to be very deeply in love, and to be absolutely
certain that I was dearly loved in return.
As I walked along, musing thus, I reached Giraud’s door. Should I go
upstairs? Why not? I would pretend that I had lost a cane, a switch, the
night before. I never carried one, but no matter. It was two o’clock,
and I thought that Giraud would be in his office. I went up, and found
the door on the landing open. The three children, dressed like little
thieves, and as dirty as ragpickers, were in the reception room, playing
with the dog, on whose head they had put their father’s black silk
night-cap. I noticed that the rooms had not been put to rights. The maid
was sweeping the salon, and told me that Giraud was at home. I supposed
that he was in his office; but the little girl called out to me that her
papa was dressing her mamma, and I dared not venture to enter Madame
Giraud’s chamber. Someone went to call monsieur and I waited in the
dust, pursued by the broom.
At last Giraud appeared, wringing his hands and making wry faces.
“Good-morning, my dear Blémont.”
“I am distressed to have disturbed you; I came up as I was passing,
to----”
“You do not disturb me in the least; on the contrary, you have put an
end to my sufferings. I was doing my utmost to fasten my wife’s dress.
Ah! my thumbs! heavens! how they ache! I couldn’t succeed in doing it,
and yet she pretends that her dress is too big; I don’t believe a word
of it. Françoise, go and fasten my wife’s dress.”
“But, monsieur, you know very well that madame says I go about it
awkwardly, that I’m not strong enough.”
“Never mind, go; you can finish the salon afterward.”
I supposed that we should go into his office and that we should find a
fire there, for it was not warm; but Giraud invited me to sit down on
the couch, saying:
“I don’t take you into my office, because it hasn’t been put to rights
yet. Lord! how my thumbs ache!--But we can talk as well here; the fire
will be lighted as soon as the salon is swept. Is it late? I haven’t
found time to dress yet.”
“Why, it is after two o’clock.”
“Mon Dieu! and I have three appointments for this afternoon, to
interview people who want to be married.”
“I do not wish to detain you.”
“Don’t go; they must wait for me. In truth, nothing is ever done
here.--My friend, marriage is a very fine thing! I hope that you will
soon take your place in the class of respectable married men.”
“Oh! I have time enough.”
“You must be tired of a bachelor’s life?”
“No, indeed.”
“Did you see anyone at my party yesterday who interested you? Come, tell
me about it.”
“Oh, no! that isn’t what brings me here; but I thought that perhaps I
left a pretty little stick of mine last night.”
“A stick! you must ask the children about that; they are the ones who
find everything that is left here. They are as smart as little
demons.--Théodore, Alexandre, daughter----”
“Oh, don’t disturb them.”
“Yes, yes; I am not sorry to have you see them, they are so cunning in
their answers.”
I dared not say that I had already seen the cunning creatures. Their
papa continued to call them. Théodore appeared on all fours, carrying
Alexandre on his back, the latter having the dog in his arms. The better
to imitate a horse, Théodore had put on long paper ears, and the little
girl was whipping him behind with a bunch of quills.
I laughed at the picture, and Giraud considered it very amusing at
first. But in a moment he recognized his black silk cap on the dog’s
head, and he did not laugh any more.
“What, you rascals! you have taken my silk cap to put on Azor!”
“I did it to make a Croquemitaine of him, papa.”
“I have forbidden you a hundred times to touch any of my things.--And
you, mademoiselle, what are you whipping your brother with?”
“Papa, with----”
“With a bunch of quills that was on my desk--very expensive quills,
rooster’s quills, which I keep to write my circulars with. Who gave you
leave to touch anything on my desk? But just come here, Monsieur
Théodore. What did you make those ears with?”
“With a paper that was on the floor, papa.”
“On the floor! God bless me! it is Monsieur Mermillon’s letter, in which
he tells me in detail what his daughter’s dowry will be! You little
villain! to make horse’s ears with my letters! Some day he will take
thousand-franc notes from my desk to make horns with. I will deal with
you, young man.”
Giraud started to run after his son, but I stopped him; I heard madame
calling in an angry voice:
“Giraud! Giraud! aren’t you coming to finish dressing me? Françoise
doesn’t know how to fasten my dress; that girl is frightfully awkward.”
“There, there it is,” said Giraud; “she is going to send her back again
because she don’t fasten her dress quickly enough. It is always the same
story. Faith, I don’t care, let her fix herself! Just look at my thumbs;
I haven’t any flesh left round my nails.”
Someone half opened the bedroom door; Madame Giraud stood at the
entrance half dressed, and behind her came the maid, who resumed her
broom, muttering:
“Ah! what a dog’s life! as if I came here to squeeze her waist in!”
At sight of me, Madame Giraud took one step backward, then three
forward, and exclaimed:
“Oh! pray excuse my disorderly appearance, Monsieur Blémont, but
Monsieur Giraud is a terrible man; he never finishes dressing me! But I
can’t remain half dressed. I give you my word, monsieur, that this dress
is too big for me.”
“And I give you my word, wife, that my thumbs are sore.”
“Bah! you are a tender creature; and I have three calls to make before
dinner, and you know that we dine at Madame Dumeillan’s, who has a box
at the Porte-Saint-Martin.”
“That is so, we dine out. Just imagine, my dear Blémont, that we have so
many invitations that we don’t know which to accept.”
“They dine early too. Oh dear! how unfortunate I am! I shall never be
ready in time.”
Madame Giraud had said enough for me. Delighted by what I had learned, I
walked toward her.
“If you will allow me, madame, perhaps I may be more successful than
your maid.”
Madame Giraud smiled most graciously at me and instantly turned her
back, saying:
“How kind you are, Monsieur Blémont! What, do you really mean that
you----?”
“With great pleasure, madame.”
I was not a novice at fastening dresses; I took the belt on each side,
and although I hurt my fingers a little, the dress was fastened; and I
did it as if it had cost me no effort at all.
“That’s the way,” cried Madame Giraud triumphantly; “that’s the way;
isn’t it, Monsieur Blémont?”
“Yes, madame; it’s all right now.”
“There, Monsieur Giraud, you see. When one knows how--and monsieur did
not seem to make any effort.”
“No, madame, none at all.”
“Faith, my dear fellow,” said Giraud, “if you will come here every day
when madame is dressing, you will do me a great favor.”
“Hush, Monsieur Giraud; you ought to be ashamed.--Excuse me, Monsieur
Blémont; I must go and finish dressing. A thousand thanks.”
Madame returned to her room, and Giraud invited me to sit down in a
corner of the salon that had been swept; but I took my hat and bade him
adieu; he escorted me as far as the landing, saying:
“My friend, marry. Believe me, it is the happiest state. I have three
superb matches at your disposal.”
“All right, we will see.”
“If your stick is found, I will put it away.”
“Oh! I am inclined to think, after all, that I didn’t leave it here.
Adieu.”
So Mademoiselle Eugénie would be at the Porte-Saint-Martin Theatre that
evening. The Girauds would be with them, so I should have an excuse for
going to pay my respects to them. And yet those Girauds were so stupid,
so ridiculous, with their mania for marrying everybody; I was sorry to
find that they were intimate with those ladies. But perhaps it was only
a society intimacy; one of those in which people call on one another
merely to pass the time, but do not care for one another.
I awaited the evening not too impatiently, for I was not in love. I
desired to see the young woman again because I had nothing better to do,
and because my eyes, fatigued by feigning love so long, ached to rest
upon other charms in order to recover a little of the fire which they
had lost.
I went to the theatre late, for I desired that they should be there when
I arrived. I cast my eyes over the boxes, and I discovered the ladies in
an open box on the first tier. The mother and Madame Giraud were in
front, Mademoiselle Eugénie on the second bench. I did not see Giraud;
probably he had some marriage to arrange that evening. There was a
vacant seat beside Mademoiselle Eugénie. Did I dare? But the box was
theirs and I could not presume to go in; it was essential that I should
be invited.
The young woman seemed to me even prettier than the night before. Her
simpler gown and headdress added to her charms. She did not see me, so
I was able to scrutinize her at my leisure. There was a seat in a box
near theirs; should I take it? No, that would be showing my desire to
speak to them too plainly.
The performance had begun. They did not see me, although I had drawn
nearer to them. Madame Giraud was entirely engrossed by her figure. I
was sure that she was suffocating. She did not know enough to look in my
direction.
Someone opened the door of their box,--Giraud, no doubt. No, it was a
young man; he saluted the ladies and Mademoiselle Dumeillan smiled upon
him; she talked and laughed with him! It was well worth while for me to
go there to see that! Mon Dieu! how stupid a man can be! I was jealous,
and all on account of a person whom I hardly knew, and to whom I had not
said a word of love. Was not that young woman at liberty to have a
lover, ten lovers indeed, if she chose? I blushed at my folly, and to
prove to myself that she was absolutely indifferent to me, I went at
once to the box next to hers, for I did not see why the presence of
those ladies, who were almost strangers to me, should prevent me from
talking with Madame Giraud, whose dress I had fastened that morning.
I entered the box. I did not look at Mademoiselle Eugénie; indeed, I
pretended not to see the ladies. But in a moment Madame Giraud called to
me:
“Good-evening, Monsieur Blémont. How kind of you to come to see us! So
you remembered that I said that I was coming here to-night with these
ladies?”
The devil take Madame Giraud with her memory! I replied very
deliberately:
“No, madame, I did not know, I had no idea--but I agreed to meet
somebody here; that is why I came.”
Then I bowed coldly to Madame Dumeillan and her daughter, after which I
turned and looked at the audience. But Madame Giraud soon began again to
talk to me; she was inclined to overwhelm me with marks of friendliness
since I had succeeded in fastening her dress.
I pretended to listen to Madame Giraud, but I had no idea of what she
was saying. I was listening to the young man who was talking to
Mademoiselle Eugénie. His remarks were very vague; he had nothing
particular to say to her, and talked about nothing but the play. I felt
that my ill humor was vanishing. I turned toward the ladies and joined
in the conversation, but I did not rest my eyes on Mademoiselle Eugénie.
I should have been sorry that she should think that I had come there on
her account.
Before long the young man took leave of the ladies and returned to his
party. He left her; did that mean that he was not in love with her? I
cast a furtive glance at Mademoiselle Dumeillan. After that young man’s
departure she was as light-hearted and seemed to enjoy herself as much
as when he was there. I began to think that I was mistaken and that he
was not a lover.
Thereupon I moved close to their box, and during the performance I
exchanged a few words with Mademoiselle Eugénie. Once my hand touched
hers, which was resting on the rail that separated us; the contact was a
mere chance; our two hands touched, she hastily withdrew hers, and I did
the same, faltering some words of apology. But that lovely hand when it
touched mine caused me a thrill of delicious emotion. A simple touch
produced such an effect as that! I would have liked to know if
Mademoiselle Eugénie--but she was not looking in my direction.
In the next intermission, Madame Giraud, who was talking with Madame
Dumeillan, suddenly turned to me and said:
“By the way, madame, Monsieur Blémont is a lawyer; he knows all about
the laws, and what rights people have. My husband isn’t very well posted
in such matters; his forte is marriages. Consult Monsieur Blémont about
your business; he will tell you whether you are in the right or not.”
“I should not dare to annoy monsieur,” replied the mother, “or presume
to take his time.”
I eagerly offered my services and asked what the business was; but she
could not explain it to me at the theatre; it was necessary for me to
look over documents and title deeds. That was just what I hoped. Madame
Dumeillan gave me her address, and, while renewing her apologies for the
trouble I was about to take, thanked me in advance for calling upon her
some morning. She thanked me for something which I would eagerly have
asked as a favor! How happy I was! But I succeeded in concealing my
delight. I did not again put my hand near Mademoiselle Dumeillan’s; it
was especially essential then that I should be careful not to act like a
man in love. A novice throws himself at people’s heads, but a clever man
knows how to husband his privileges.
Acting upon this principle, when Giraud arrived I paid my respects to
the ladies and left the theatre. Had I remained I should have seemed to
be looking for an opportunity to escort them home.