I went every day to see Eugénie, for I did not see why I should continue
to conceal my love. She loved me, she knew that I adored her; was it
possible that her mother was not also aware of our sentiments? I had
never dreamed of making Eugénie my mistress. My only desire and hope was
for an enduring happiness. Eugénie should be my wife. I was sure of her
consent, but it would be necessary to have her mother’s as well.
I believe that that good woman had divined my sentiments long before;
parents are not always deceived by our little stratagems, by our
affectation of coldness and ceremony; but when they pretend not to see,
it means that they secretly approve our inclinations. Madame Dumeillan
saw that I went there every day, and one does not go every day to a
house where there is a pretty woman, unless there is love underneath.
Eugénie pouted when I was late, and scolded me when I suggested going
away; her mother heard it all and simply smiled. I saw that our love was
no longer a secret to anyone.
Eugénie no longer called me Monsieur Blémont; she called me Monsieur
Henri, and Henri simply, when we were alone. How pleasant it is to hear
the woman we love call us for the first time by our Christian name,
without that depressing _monsieur_! From that moment a stronger bond
united us, a more tender intimacy existed between us. Eugénie could love
as dearly as I; I read all her thoughts in her eyes; she no longer tried
to conceal from me what she felt. I had found the woman that I desired:
beauty, charm, wit and virtue. Yes, virtue; for Eugénie was kind, easily
moved, and submissive and affectionate to her mother; I never heard her
utter a murmur about complying with her slightest wish. I had judged her
to be very coquettish, but I was mistaken; she loved the amusements of
her age, she abandoned herself to them frankly and without reserve; but
that is not coquetry. She laughed with those who tried to please her,
but she gave false hopes to none of them. Now, when at her mother’s
receptions, young men came to pay court to her and to make complimentary
speeches, she no longer laughed; their flattering words bored her; her
eyes sought me and followed me incessantly; and when she could escape
from the crowd, she would come to me and whisper:
“Henri, I no longer enjoy society; I like it much better when you alone
come to see us.”
Perhaps Eugénie was a trifle too susceptible; she yielded too readily to
first impressions. I found that she would sometimes take offence and
sulk for several days on account of a remark misunderstood, or a
perfectly innocent act; but I was sure that that trifling defect would
disappear with time and experience. I believed also that Eugénie would
be jealous, yes, very jealous; she changed color and was evidently
disturbed when I happened to talk a long time with the same lady. But,
far from blaming her for that sentiment, I was secretly overjoyed by it;
that jealousy was a new proof of the love that I inspired in her. I
should have been very sorry to have her indifferent when I was talking
with a pretty woman; for then I should have thought that she cared but
little for me. Moreover, I had not hoped to find a perfect mortal; they
say that such do not exist. And if there were such a thing as a perfect
woman, I should not care to marry her; I think that a man would be bored
with her.
Eugénie agreed to teach me music; she declared that I had a sweet voice
and that I sang with taste; we began our lessons at once. I did not make
rapid progress, but as we enjoyed the lessons, and as they gave me an
opportunity to be with Eugénie, to tell her again and again that I
adored her, she gave them to me often, and I could not help becoming a
musician. In my turn, I was to teach her painting; she had some idea of
drawing and earnestly desired to be able to use a brush; and I had no
doubt in a short time she would do honor to her master.
Every day increased my love for Eugénie, and every day I obtained new
proofs of her attachment to me. Those delightful hours which I passed
with her, but always in her mother’s presence, made me long for a still
greater happiness. Why should I delay to settle my fate? Eugénie, I felt
sure, would accept joyfully the title of my wife.
Thus far I had spoken to her of love only, not of marriage. But what
need had I to utter that word? And could Eugénie mention it to me? A
well-bred young lady doesn’t ask the man who is making love to her if he
proposes to marry her, for she cannot assume that he has any other
purpose. She who asks such a question always places herself in an
unfavorable position; it is as if she said: “I will love you when I am
sure that you will marry me.” A wretched sort of love that, which one
can order or countermand at will!
One day I went to Madame Dumeillan’s. It was about noon. By an
extraordinary chance Eugénie was alone; her mother had gone to pay a
visit, and Eugénie had succeeded in excusing herself from accompanying
her; she hoped that I would come. She told me so with that charming
smile which transported me and filled me with rapture; she gave me her
hand, which I pressed ecstatically; then I seated myself beside her,
very close, as close as I possibly could. I talked to her of my love; I
told her--as I had told her a hundred times before--that I was happy
only with her. But one is never weary of listening to protestations of a
passion which one shares; when such assurances tire us, it means that
our hearts are beginning to change.
As I talked with Eugénie, I passed my arm about her waist for the first
time, and I drew her lovingly toward me; but she gently extricated
herself and rose, saying:
“Come, monsieur, come to the piano, you must take a lesson this
morning.”
I felt incapable of looking calmly at the notes; I detained Eugénie by
the hand.
“Let us continue to talk, please! We have plenty of time for the piano.”
“We can talk while we practise.”
“It would be impossible for me to practise this morning.”
“Why so, monsieur? Do you mean that you are tired of your music lessons
already?”
“Oh, no! but I have so many things to say to you! It so seldom happens
that I find you alone!”
“Does mamma’s presence prevent you from talking with me? Don’t we talk
hours at a time every evening, while they are playing cards?”
“Yes, but that isn’t the same thing; it’s much pleasanter to be alone!
Dear Eugénie! I would like to pass my life with you and nobody else!”
“Oh! you would very soon get tired of that!”
“Tired of being with you! Impossible! But perhaps you yourself would not
be willing to sacrifice to me the attentions of this mob of young men
who sigh for you.”
“Oh! how mean it is to say that! When I am bored to death everywhere
where you are not! Do you mean to say that I listen to the compliments
and flattery of a lot of young men? Nonsense! come to the piano,
monsieur!”
“Just a moment!”
I adored her, I was certain that she loved me, and yet I trembled at the
thought of mentioning the word marriage! What a strange thing! To
hesitate, to be embarrassed about mentioning to the person you love, a
bond which you both desire! I had never hesitated with a pretty woman
about overcoming her modesty and abusing her weakness; it seems to me
that it requires more courage to behave oneself than to misbehave.
I held Eugénie’s hand, which she abandoned to me; I could not speak, but
I covered her hand with kisses. I did not know if she guessed all that
was going on in my heart; but a deep flush covered her cheeks, and she
turned her eyes away in order to avoid mine. At last I stammered in an
undertone and with an almost shamefaced air:
“Eugénie--will you be my wife?”
She did not answer, but her hand pressed mine affectionately; her bosom
rose and fell violently; I met her eyes, which she tried to avert, and
they were wet with tears. How sweet are the tears which pleasure causes
one to shed! I fell at Eugénie’s feet, reiterating my oath to love her
all my life.
I was still at her feet--one is so comfortable in that position before
the woman whom one adores! It has been said, I believe, that nothing is
more absurd than a man at a woman’s feet; that may be true with respect
to a woman who resists us, but with her who loves us, I can see nothing
absurd in that position--I was still at her feet, when the door of the
salon opened; it was Madame Dumeillan. She found me at her daughter’s
feet.
I was not confused at being surprised in that attitude, for I had no
guilty designs; and Eugénie herself looked at her mother without alarm;
but she said to her, with a blush:
“Mamma, he swears that he will love me all his life; he asks me if I
will be his wife.”
The mother smiled; we had told her nothing new. But I ran to her, seized
her hands and pressed them in mine, and begged her not to stand in the
way of my happiness and to call me her son.
“What answer has Eugénie given you?” asked Madame Dumeillan kindly. “I
am inclined to spoil her a little, you know; if she doesn’t want to
marry you, I warn you that I shall not force her.”
As she said that, the good woman glanced at her daughter mischievously;
she knew very well that my love was returned. Eugénie threw herself into
the arms of her mother and concealed her sweet face upon her breast; she
could not speak, and I myself had hardly the strength to do so. Madame
Dumeillan took her daughter’s hand and placed it in mine. Eugénie’s face
was still hidden, but her hand answered my pressure. Her mother put her
arms about us and held us to her heart. What a blissful moment! Shall I
ever enjoy a purer happiness?
This first outburst of enthusiasm passed, Madame Dumeillan exclaimed:
“Well, on my word! I am acting very thoughtlessly for a mother! Here I
am joining your hands, and I do not even know whether you have your
mother’s consent, whether an alliance with our family will be agreeable
to her.”
“Oh! yes, madame, I have no fears in that direction. My mother will be
overjoyed to see me married; the choice that I have made cannot fail to
please her. I have never yet mentioned it to her because first of all I
wanted to know whether Eugénie,--whether mademoiselle your daughter----”
“Nonsense! say Eugénie, monsieur; you have that privilege now; you give
him leave, do you not, my daughter?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“Dear Eugénie! oh! how kind you are, madame! But I will go at once to
see my mother; I propose that she shall come herself to-morrow.”
“Oh, dear me! give her a little time.”
“No, madame, we must move quickly in order to be happy. You have given
your consent, may I not be in haste to call you my mother, too?”
“To call her your wife, you mean, you rascal!”
“Well, yes, I am crazy to call her my wife! Dear Eugénie! I am so happy!
I will hurry to my mother’s.”
“So soon! Why, he is mad, on my word!”
“You will come again this evening, Henri?”
“Can you ask me such a question?”
I kissed Eugénie’s hand and Madame Dumeillan’s, and hurried from the
house, to go to my mother. Ah! I was very happy; and yet I longed to be
a few weeks older, in order to be even happier. But we are forever
longing to grow old, and if we had our whole lives at our disposal, we
should use them up in a very short time.
My mother was not at home. What a nuisance! She had gone out to make
some calls. Upon whom? Where should I look for her? I went away,
informing the servant that I would come again. I went away, but I had no
idea where to go. My mother lived on Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule, and I knew
no one in that neighborhood. Eugénie lived too far away for me to return
there, for I intended to go to my mother’s again soon. I determined to
walk about on the boulevards in the Marais; they are less frequented
there than elsewhere, and I could think of my Eugénie without being
distracted by the crowd.
I walked there for fifteen minutes, then returned to my mother’s; she
had not come in, and I must needs walk still longer. What a bore! I
should have had time to go to see Eugénie; away from her, I seemed not
to live.
A little man passed me, turned about, then stopped, barring my path. I
had paid no attention to his performance, but he called out:
“I say! what in the devil are you thinking about, that you don’t
recognize your friends?”
It was Bélan. I shook hands with him.
“I beg your pardon, my dear Bélan, but I did not see you.”
“You were terribly preoccupied. You were thinking of your love-affairs,
I’ll wager.”
“Faith, yes; I don’t deny it. I was thinking of the woman I shall adore
all my life.”
“Oho! how exalted we are! I recognize myself in that!”
I was like a child, I longed to tell everybody what made me happy. I
told Bélan of my love and of my impending marriage to Mademoiselle
Dumeillan. The little rake made a pirouette and clapped his hands,
crying:
“The deuce! you are going to be married? On my word, there is a secret
sympathy between us: I am thinking of marrying too.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I am fully decided upon it; I am tired of _bonnes
fortunes_. And then, when your life is always in danger, it becomes
wearisome after a while. Since my adventure with Montdidier--you
remember?”
“Oh yes! perfectly; it was that day that I first saw Eugénie at
Giraud’s.”
“Oho! so you met your future wife at Giraud’s, did you? Then it was they
who arranged the marriage?”
“No indeed. Madame Dumeillan sees them very seldom. For my part, I have
never mentioned them to her; it doesn’t seem to me that I need Giraud to
arrange a marriage for me.”
“Never mind; as it was at his house that you met the young woman, he
will be furious if he isn’t invited to the wedding, if he doesn’t manage
the whole thing, if his wife is not near the head of the table, and if
his three children aren’t allowed to stuff their pockets with dessert.”
“In that case I fancy that he will have a chance to be furious.”
“To return to myself, my dear fellow, I must tell you that since my
adventure with Madame Montdidier, I have had some very disagreeable
times: obliged to jump out of the window of an entresol; another time,
to pass the night on a balcony, where I caught a cold that cost me eight
bottles of syrup; and lastly, to avoid being surprised by a husband,
compelled to hide in a chest, where I nearly stifled! I stayed in it an
hour, and when they let me out, I was purple; my breath was all gone;
faith! that completely disgusted me with love-affairs and intrigues; and
like yourself, I propose to have done with them. I am courting a young
lady who lives on Rue de la Roquette. I am going there now. You may have
seen her at Giraud’s--Mademoiselle de Beausire?”
“I don’t remember seeing her.”
“Ah! she is a very handsome girl; regular features, aquiline nose--I am
very fond of aquiline noses--extraordinary eyes, small waist, beautiful
figure,--everything is there!”
“Everything,--you are sure?”
“Bah! you wicked joker! yes, I am sure of it. Anybody can see that at
once. I am paying most assiduous court to her, and I have reason to
believe that she does not look upon me with indifference. Not long ago,
while we were playing games at her mother’s house, she chose me to
whisper a secret to; she came to me blushing, and said in my ear: ‘I
don’t know what to say to you.’ I was enchanted!”
“I don’t wonder.”
“Yes, for ‘I don’t know what to say to you’ meant: ‘I am afraid of
saying too much.’”
“With a well-disposed person it might mean that.”
“Since then I have made no secret of my intentions. Indeed, she is an
excellent match; she has a dowry of eighty thousand francs, and
brilliant expectations. Her family is noble. And look you, my dear
fellow, I confess that, in order to make myself more attractive to the
mother, I ventured to put a little _de_ before my name; it was Giraud
who advised me to do it. I am now called Ferdinand de Bélan.”
“Oho! so you have ennobled yourself on your own authority?”
“My dear fellow, I believe that I have a right to do it; while searching
through my family papers, I discovered that one of my ancestors was an
officer of the kitchen to Louis XV, and a man had to be of noble birth
to fill that post. It was during the Revolution, no doubt, that my
father dropped the _de_, from fright.”
“But I have often heard you profess the most profound contempt for
titles, and make sport of old parchments.”
“Oh! a man often says a thing, you know, just so as to seem to have an
opinion;--You must see my future wife, you must see her, that’s all I
say. And my mother-in-law--a superb woman still, and with such a manner!
she used to be at court, so she is a little strict in the matter of
etiquette; but she adores her daughter and she has sworn never to part
from her!”
“So you are going to marry two women at once, are you?”
“Oh! that is merely a figure of speech. But this is the time of day when
the ladies are visible. Adieu, my dear Blémont; I invite you beforehand
to my wedding; for I propose to have a magnificent wedding party at
Lointier’s; his rooms are superb. I have already in my mind the two
costumes which I shall wear on that great day, and the steps I shall
perform to open the ball. I trust that I shall go to your wedding, too?”
“Really, I don’t know whether we shall have any celebration. That will
be as Eugénie wishes; I assure you that I do not give any thought to
that.”
“Well, I dream every night of weddings, banquets and dances; twice I
have tipped over my somno, thinking that I was opening the ball. Really
it is very nice to be married: if anyone would assure me twelve thousand
francs a year, I wouldn’t remain a bachelor. Adieu, my friend: I must
hurry to wait upon those ladies.”
For my part, I went again to my mother’s, and that time I found her. She
had not finished asking me about my health when I began to tell her of
my love-affairs; and I did not stop until I had begged her to go to
Madame Dumeillan’s with me at once.
But my mother did not share my eagerness, which indeed made her smile.
She was very glad that I was thinking of settling down, and she had no
doubt that I had made an excellent choice; but she fell back on the
heartless conventional phrases:
“We must see; we must make sure; we must not be in a hurry.”
Not be in a hurry when one’s happiness is in the balance! ah! parents
never choose to remember the time when they were in love! I urged and
entreated my mother to go at once to see the ladies. She calmly called
my attention to the fact that it was four o’clock, that she was dining
out, and that it was too late for her to call upon Madame Dumeillan that
day. All that I could obtain from her was a promise to go on the
following day; she even gave me permission to inform the ladies that she
would call.
I had no choice but to make the best of it. I left my mother, and I
would have sworn that, before I reached the foot of the stairs, she had
already forgotten my visit, and was wondering what partner she would
have at whist that evening.
I returned to Eugénie after dinner. Nowhere else could I be patient and
find means of passing the time until the day when I should be her
husband.
Unluckily, it was the evening of Madame Dumeillan’s reception; many
people came, and we could not talk. My eyes expressed to Eugénie all the
impatience that I felt because I was unable to talk to her of my love;
and her glances told me that she shared my annoyance. At that moment,
society was most disagreeable to us. If all those people had known how
pleased we should have been to see them go!
However, the card tables being arranged, I hoped to be able to approach
Eugénie at last; but behold, Monsieur Giraud and his wife arrived. After
the usual greeting and exchange of compliments, Madame Giraud took
possession of Eugénie, and her husband joined me. He talked to me in
what, as I thought, he intended as a sly tone. He had evidently heard
that I was paying court to Mademoiselle Dumeillan; he thought that
perhaps I would ask him to negotiate my marriage, to speak for me, to
arrange the provisions of the contract. Poor Giraud! I saw what he was
driving at; I pretended not to understand his hints and allusions. When
he mentioned Eugénie, I changed the subject. He was offended; he rose
and left me. That was what I wanted. I was sure that his wife was going
through the same manœuvres with Eugénie. Bélan was right: those
people would never forgive us if we married without letting them have a
hand in it; but we could do without their forgiveness.
Madame Giraud walked away from Eugénie with evident displeasure. Eugénie
glanced at me with a smile; I had guessed aright the subject of their
conversation. The husband and wife met and whispered earnestly together;
then they walked toward Madame Dumeillan and surrounded her, one at her
right, and the other at her left; she could not escape them. They
evidently proposed to try to learn more from Eugénie’s mother; but I
knew that they would waste their time, that Madame Dumeillan would tell
them nothing; she invented an excuse for leaving them after talking a
few moments.
Giraud and his wife were very angry. They came toward me again, and I
expected that they would hurl epigrams at me and tear me with their
claws. I was not mistaken; Madame Giraud began, speaking to her husband
so that I should hear:
“It is very amusing, isn’t it, Monsieur Giraud?”
“Yes, Madame Giraud, very amusing; there is a great deal of diplomacy
here.”
“Yes, they make a mystery of something that is everybody’s secret.”
“Aha! they evidently take us for fools.”
“It seems that way to me.”
“Wouldn’t anyone say that it was a question of uniting two great
powers?”
“Perhaps they are afraid they will have to invite us to the wedding.”
“Great heaven! weddings! we have no lack of them; in fact, we have so
many that it is fairly sickening.”
“I declined an invitation to another to-morrow. And there is poor Bélan
who has already invited us to his, which is to be at Lointier’s.”
“That young man will make a very good husband. Does he get along all
right with Madame de Beausire?”
“Oh, yes! since I went to see the mother-in-law, all the obstacles have
disappeared. There are some people who aren’t afraid to let me take a
hand in their affairs, and who are greatly benefited by it.”
“Let us go, Monsieur Giraud; we still have time to go and see our good
friends who have that expensive apartment on Rue de la Paix, and whose
daughter you found a husband for two months ago.”
“You are right; I am sure that they expect us to have a cup of tea.”
The husband and wife disappeared without a word to anyone. And those
creatures were offended with us because we found it natural and
convenient to manage our own affairs! But in society it takes so little
to make enemies, especially of narrow-minded people.
The guests began to leave, and I found a moment to talk with Eugénie. I
told her that my mother would come to see her the next day. She blushed
and sighed as she replied:
“Suppose she doesn’t like me? suppose she isn’t willing to have me for
her daughter?”
Not like her! who could fail to like her? I was not at all disturbed. I
reassured Eugénie, and I left her at last when the clock so ordered, as
I had not as yet the right not to leave her at all.
On returning home, I met Ernest coming down from his mistress’s room.
Since I had been spending all my time at Madame Dumeillan’s, I had sadly
neglected my friends of the fifth floor. Ernest reproached me for it
mildly, but they were not offended; they knew that I was in love, and
thought it quite natural that I should think of no one but my love. But
Ernest said to me:
“I hope that you will come to see us sometimes, although Marguerite will
soon cease to be your neighbor.”
“Is she going to move?”
“In a week. She is not going to live in an attic any longer, thank
heaven! Poor child! she has been miserable enough; she has made so many
sacrifices for me, that I may well be glad to offer her a pleasanter
position at last. Thank heaven! my affairs are prosperous. I have been
successful, my friend, and I have made money. I have not squandered it
at the cafés or restaurants, because I have always remembered
Marguerite, in her attic, poor and destitute of everything. You see
that, whatever my parents may say, it is not always a bad thing to have
a poor mistress, for it has made me orderly and economical in good
season.”
“I see that you are not selfish, and that you are not like many young
men of your age, who think that they have done enough for a woman when
they have taken her to a theatre and to a restaurant,--pleasures which
they share with her,--but who cease to think about her as soon as they
have left her at home.”
“I have hired a pretty little apartment on Rue du Temple, nearly
opposite the baths. That is where we are going to live; I say we,
because I hope that before long Marguerite and I shall not be parted. It
matters little to me what people say; I propose to be happy, and I shall
let evil tongues say what they will.”
“You are right, my dear Ernest; happiness is rare enough for a person to
make some sacrifices to obtain it. I am going to marry my Eugénie! I
have attained the height of my ambition!”
“I might marry Marguerite too; but we are so happy as we are! Why should
we change? Besides, we have plenty of time, haven’t we? Adieu, my dear
Blémont. You will come to see us, won’t you?”
“Yes, I promise you that I will.”