Ernest and his wife very soon noticed the change that had taken place in
my manner toward my son, and they seemed overjoyed. I told them what
Henriette had done, and that the change was due to her. They lavished
caresses upon her, and I did the same, for I owed it to her that I was
much happier. Arriving one day from Paris, with books for me and toys
for the children, Pettermann remained standing in front of me; it was
his custom when he wished to say something to me to wait for me to
question him; I had become used to that peculiarity.
“What is there new, Pettermann?”
“Nothing, monsieur, except that I met someone on my way here this
morning.”
“Met someone? Does that interest me?”
“Yes, it was some acquaintances of monsieur, some people who were at
Mont-d’Or at the same time that we were; that pretty young lady with
such a fine figure and the thin, lively, good-natured little man.”
“Monsieur Roquencourt and his niece?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you see them?”
“On the boulevard, as I was on my way to Faubourg-Saint-Antoine.”
“You did not speak first to them, I fancy?”
“Prout! as if I would ever have thought of such a thing! I didn’t even
see them! All of a sudden I felt someone tap me lightly on the shoulder;
I turned; it was the uncle. He was all out of breath; his niece was some
distance behind. He said to me first of all: ‘You walk terribly fast, my
friend! Ouf! you made me run.’--I answered: ‘Bless my soul, monsieur, I
didn’t know that you were following me.’--Just then his niece joined us.
She seems to be as inquisitive as ever, the young woman; you remember,
don’t you, monsieur, that she asked me a lot of questions at Mont-d’Or?”
“Well, what did she ask you to-day?”
“First of all, how monsieur was; then as I had a package under my arm,
she said: ‘Where are you going with that?’--‘To Saint-Mandé,
mademoiselle.’--‘Does Monsieur Dalbreuse live at Saint-Mandé?’--‘Yes,
mademoiselle.’--‘And is that bundle for him?’--‘Yes, mademoiselle.’--At
that she began to laugh, with a queer expression, and I noticed that the
head of a jack-in-the-box was sticking out of the bundle. The uncle
asked me: ‘Is Monsieur Dalbreuse running a marionette theatre?’--‘No,
monsieur; there are some books in the bundle for my master, but the toys
are for the children.’--‘What! has he children with him?’ cried the
young woman.--‘Prout!’ I said to myself at that; ‘there seems to be no
end to these questions.’--So I took off my hat and saluted them, and
told them that I was in a hurry.”
“Is that all, Pettermann?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
So Caroline had not forgotten me, although we had not parted on very
good terms. But that was no reason why we should cease to think of each
other; so many people part on most excellent terms and forget each other
at once! That reminder of Mademoiselle Derbin caused me a pleasant
emotion; she had such a strange temperament, a way of thinking that was
not like other people’s; and in spite of that, she had all the charm of
affability of her sex.
If Pettermann had still been there, I would have asked him whether
Mademoiselle Derbin had changed, whether she seemed as bright and
cheerful as formerly. I would have asked him--I don’t know what else.
But he had gone. He had done well too. What occasion was there for me to
think of Caroline? I had determined thenceforth not to love anybody
except my children. It was a pity, however, for love is such a pleasant
occupation!
It was three days after Pettermann had told me of that meeting. I was
walking in Vincennes forest with my children. Eugène had become less
timid with me; he smiled at me and kissed me, although he was not yet so
unreserved as his sister, who made me do whatever she wished. I held a
hand of each of them. I was listening to the chatter of Henriette and
her brother’s lisping replies, when my daughter mentioned her mother,
and my brow darkened.
“Papa, why doesn’t mamma come back?”
“She is ever so far away, my child. It may be that you won’t see her for
a very long time.”
“But I don’t like that. Why don’t we go to fetch her?”
“That is impossible.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know where she is now.”
“Oh dear! suppose she was lost!”
Henriette’s eyes were full of tears; she looked at me as she asked that
question. Poor child! if she had known how she hurt me! I did not know
how to comfort her. If Eugénie had returned, I felt sure that she would
have asked to see her child; and I should never have denied her that
satisfaction. But I heard nothing of her. Ernest and his wife never
mentioned her to me, and although their silence was beginning to vex me,
I did not choose to be the first to speak of Eugénie; besides, it was
quite possible that they had heard no more from her than I had.
Henriette was still looking at me; impatient at my failure to answer,
she exclaimed at last:
“Why, papa, what are you thinking about?”
“About you, my child.”
“I asked you if my poor mamma was lost, and you didn’t say anything. And
Monsieur Eugène never asks about his mamma! That is naughty! He’s a
hardhearted little wretch!”
Eugène looked at his sister with a shamefaced air, then began to call
out to me as if he were reciting complimentary verses:
“Papa, tell me about mamma, please.”
I kissed Eugène, and he was content with that reply; but my daughter
caused me more and more embarrassment every day. However, she was
capable of listening to reason, for her intelligence was in advance of
her age. I stopped and sat down at the foot of a tree; then I drew my
children to my side, and I said to Henriette:
“My dear love, you are no longer a child; I can talk reasonably to you.”
“Oh, yes, papa, I am more than seven years old, and I know how to read!”
“Listen to me: your mamma has gone away, to a very distant country; I do
not know myself when she will come back; you must see that it makes me
feel grieved not to see her, and whenever you mention her to me you
increase my grief. Do you understand, my dear love?”
“Yes, papa. So I must never speak to you about mamma, eh?”
“At all events, do not ask me questions that I can’t answer.”
“But I can still think about mamma, can’t I?”
“Yes, my dear Henriette; and be very sure that as soon as she returns to
Paris, her first thought will be to come to embrace you.”
My daughter said no more. That conversation seemed to have saddened both
the poor children. They said nothing more, and I myself sat beside them,
lost in thought.
A few moments later a gentleman and lady came toward us. I had not
raised my eyes to look at them, but I had heard my own name. It was
Monsieur Roquencourt and his niece.
They stopped in front of us.
“Yes, my niece was right, it is our dear friend Monsieur Dalbreuse!”
I rose and bowed to the uncle and niece. Caroline’s manner was cold but
polite.
I did not recognize that animated and playful countenance which attached
so many people to her chariot at Mont-d’Or; she had assumed a much more
serious expression. Her glance was almost melancholy; but how well that
new manner became her! How great a charm that change gave her in my
eyes!
“My niece said a long way off: ‘There is Monsieur Dalbreuse;’ but I
admit that I didn’t recognize you; and yet my sight is very good, I have
never used spectacles. But who are these lovely children?”
“They are mine.”
“Yours? Oh yes! I remember now--my niece told me that you were married.
They are charming; the little girl has magnificent eyes, and quite a
little manner of her own. We shall make many conquests with those
eyes.--And you, my fine fellow. Oh! you will play the handsome Leander
with great success some day; you would be amazing with a club-wig.”
While Monsieur Roquencourt was looking at my children, his niece drew
near to me and said in an undertone:
“So you have your children with you now?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
Then she stooped over Henriette and said:
“Will you give me a kiss, my dear love?”
My daughter made a dignified curtsy, then allowed herself to be
embraced. Mademoiselle next took Eugène in her arms and kissed him. I do
not know why I took pleasure in watching her do it.
“So you live at Saint-Mandé? We learned that from your servant, whom we
happened to meet.”
“Yes, monsieur, I am passing the summer here; I am staying with a friend
who was kind enough, with his wife, to take charge of my children while
I was travelling.”
“There is one thing that you don’t know, and that is that we have been
neighbors of yours since yesterday.”
“What?”
“Yes, I mean it. We have hired a little house, all furnished, at
Saint-Mandé and we have installed ourselves there for the rest of the
summer. It was an idea that came into my niece’s head. After we met your
servant, she said to me: ‘I am not feeling very well, uncle.’--It is
true that she has been out of sorts ever since we returned from
Mont-d’Or.”
“Dear me, uncle! all this has very little interest for monsieur. What is
the use of giving him all these details?”
“Anything that concerns you, mademoiselle, cannot fail to interest me.”
Caroline turned her face away. Her uncle continued:
“Yes, my dear girl, you are not well; it is of no use for you to try to
conceal it, for anybody can see it; and this solemn, melancholy
expression which has taken the place of your former gayety--for you have
lost all your gayety and----”
“Why, you are mistaken, uncle; I am just the same as always.”
“Well, you insisted on coming here for your health--at all events you
told me so; and when you insist upon a thing--you know, my dear
Dalbreuse, it’s just as it was when she made us go to drive at
Mont-d’Or--it has to be done on the instant. And so, inside of
twenty-four hours, we came, we saw, and we hired a house! And we must
needs take possession of it at once.”
“It was because I was bored to death in Paris; and then I--I did not
know this neighborhood----”
“Well, I know it; but I am very fond of it. Dugazon had a country house
at Saint-Mandé! I will show it to you when we return. We used to come
here to have little supper parties and theatricals, and to enjoy
ourselves. I played _L’Avocat Patelin_, and Petit-Jean in _Les
Plaideurs_; and by the way, in _Les Plaideurs_, I played a wicked trick!
You know, when----”
“But we are detaining monsieur, uncle; we are taking his time, perhaps!”
“Oh! by no means, mademoiselle; I was just going back to Saint-Mandé.”
“We are going back there too; we will go together. As I was saying, it
was in _Les Plaideurs_. In the third act, you know, some little dogs are
brought on. Dugazon had said to me: ‘Will you undertake to provide some
little dogs?’ I already had my plan in my head, so I said: ‘Yes, I
will.’ Very good. The performance began and the moment came when the
unfortunate orphans are called for. I brought on a large open basket.
Guess what came out of it: a dozen mice, which I had concealed inside
and which instantly ran about all over the stage, and jumped down into
the orchestra; and the men laughed and the women shrieked, for everyone
of them thought that she had a mouse under her skirt! I held my sides
with laughter! After the play, those ladies said that I was a monster!
That affair was worth three conquests to me!”
Monsieur Roquencourt chattered on, and in due time we reached the
village. Caroline had held Eugène’s hand all the way, and had talked
frequently with my daughter.
“Here is our hermitage,” said Monsieur Roquencourt, stopping in front of
a pretty house within two gun shots of Ernest’s. “I trust that you will
come to see us, Monsieur Dalbreuse. In the country one must be
neighborly,--isn’t that so, niece?”
“If monsieur chooses to give us that pleasure, if he would bring his
children to see us, I should be delighted to see them again.--Would you
like to come, my dear love?”
“Yes, madame.”
“And you, my little man? you must like sweeties and I always have some.”
Eugène replied with great solemnity that he would like to come to see
the sweeties. I thanked her for the children and took my leave,
promising to bring them the next day.
So Caroline wished to see me again; her fiery wrath against me was
allayed; doubtless it was because the sentiment that had given birth to
that wrath had also vanished. But why had she lost her former playful
humor? Upon my word, I was very conceited to think that it had anything
to do with me. Might not Mademoiselle Derbin have some heartache, or
some secret, with which I was absolutely unconnected? I would have been
glad to know if she had seen Madame Blémont again before leaving
Mont-d’Or. However, I was not sorry for the meeting. When Ernest was at
work, it was impossible to talk with him; and his wife was constantly
busy with her children and with her household cares. So I thought that
it would be pleasant to go sometimes to Monsieur Roquencourt’s for a
chat.
At dinner I informed my hosts of our meeting.
“If they are pleasant people, ask them to come to see us,” said Ernest.
I noticed that his wife did not second that invitation. I had said that
Caroline was lovely, and wives sometimes dread the visit of a lovely
person; Marguerite was a wife now.
“My friend,” she said, “if they are people with twenty-five thousand
francs a year and a carriage, I shall never dare to receive them.”
“Why not, pray, my dear love? I am an author, and genius goes before
wealth. Isn’t that so, Henri?”
“It ought to be so, at all events.”
“But, my dear, I am not an author, I have no genius----”
“That doesn’t follow, my dear love; one is often found without the
other.”
“At all events, I shall not dare, or I shall not be able--you yourself
say that we must not make acquaintances which will entail expense.”
It seemed to me that Marguerite was getting mixed up; I fancied that I
could see her making signals to her husband; but he was trying to
compose the concluding lines of a quatrain, and was not listening to
Marguerite. I comforted the little woman by telling her that she was
under no obligation to receive Monsieur Roquencourt and his niece.
“But you will go to see them?” she asked.
“Yes, I don’t see what should prevent me.”
“No, of course not. But you see, according to what I have heard of this
young lady, who does not choose to marry, I have an idea that she is a
flirt.”
“Even if that were so, so long as her company is agreeable, I do not see
that I have anything to fear.”
Madame Ernest said no more; I saw plainly that she was not pleased with
her new neighbor, and I could not imagine the reason; I did not propose
that that should prevent me from going to see the new arrivals.
The next day I took my children to Monsieur Roquencourt’s house. I found
the uncle walking in his garden, with several people from the
neighborhood. Rich folk soon become popular; the neighbors vie with one
another in becoming intimate with people who own a carriage. Monsieur
Roquencourt was telling his new acquaintances about a scene from
_Monsieur de Crac_; he took my son and daughter by the hand, and offered
to show them his garden and to let them taste his peaches. I let them go
and went into the house to pay my respects to Caroline. I heard the
notes of a piano. A piano! how many things that instrument recalled to
my mind! Those chords caused me a sharp pang now. I remembered that
Mademoiselle Derbin had told me that she played the piano. I strove to
overcome my emotions, and I entered the salon where Caroline was. I
listened to her for some time without speaking; I cannot describe my
sensations. She stopped at last and I approached her.
“Were you there?” she asked me.
“Yes, I have been listening to you.”
“Didn’t you bring your children?”
“I beg pardon, they are with your uncle.”
“Your children are lovely, and I congratulate you, monsieur, upon having
them with you. It is a proof that your wife has forgiven your
wrongdoing, since she entrusts to you her dearest treasures. That leads
me to think that before long she herself----”
“Did you see her again before leaving Mont-d’Or, mademoiselle?”
“No, monsieur; she left the hotel where we were staying, on the day
after you. Don’t you know where she is now?”
“No, mademoiselle.”
“Upon my word, monsieur, I utterly fail to understand your conduct. You
seem to love, to be devoted to your children, and you abandon their
suffering, unhappy mother! If I had never seen you, and anybody had told
me about you, I should have imagined you as hideous physically as
morally; but when one knows you, one cannot think that.”
Caroline smiled and I held my peace; that was the best course that I
could pursue when that subject was broached. Henriette and Eugène came
in from the garden. Caroline ran to them and embraced them and lavished
toys and bonbons upon them; then, as I still remained silent, she sat
down at the piano again and allowed her fingers to run over the keys for
a few moments. Eugène was sitting in a corner, engrossed by his bonbons;
Henriette was gazing in admiration at a lovely doll which had just been
given her; but I noticed that, at the first sound from the piano, she
stopped playing and listened. I listened too, for it seemed to me that
it was Eugénie to whom I was listening; there were the same talent and
the same expression. Soon my illusion was intensified, for Mademoiselle
Derbin, after a brilliant prelude, began a tune which I recognized: it
was Eugénie’s favorite. I was convinced that it was Eugénie who was
playing, as in the early days of our married life. I was roused from
that illusion by sobs; I looked up and saw that my daughter was sobbing
bitterly and that the doll had fallen from her hands. I ran to
Henriette, and Caroline did the same.
“What is the matter with you, my dear child?” I asked, taking her in my
arms. “Why are you crying?”
“Oh! papa, it was because--because I thought that it was mamma playing!”
Poor child! I pressed her to my heart and I hid in her hair the tears
which fell from my eyes.
Caroline was still standing before us, and I heard her say in an
undertone:
“You see this child’s tears, and still you do not give her back her
mother!”
I came to my senses and comforted my daughter; Caroline overwhelmed her
with caresses; but, despite her efforts to detain me, I went away with
the children; for I heard Monsieur Roquencourt coming, and at that
moment it would have been impossible for me to endure a stranger’s
presence.
I paid several visits to my neighbors, but Caroline did not play the
piano again when I was there. She lavished caresses and presents upon my
children, which they could not refuse; with me she was sad and silent,
but she always declared that I went away too soon.
I saw that at Ernest’s house the new neighbors were not liked; that
seemed to me very unjust, because they did not know them. They cast
disdainful glances upon the toys that my daughter and Eugène received
from Caroline; was it from jealousy, because her own children had not so
many, that Madame Ernest cried down the presents that were given to my
children? No, I knew Marguerite’s warm heart; it was not susceptible of
envy. Why was it then that she showed so much prejudice against Monsieur
Roquencourt’s niece?
On going one day to call upon Caroline, I was greatly surprised to meet
Monsieur Giraud there. But I soon learned that he had been presented by
a neighbor with whom he was passing the day. In the country one friend
brings another to call, and Giraud was one of those people who ask
nothing better than to be brought. He seemed delighted to see me; one
always likes to find acquaintances in a house to which one goes for the
first time; it puts one more at ease. When he discovered that I was a
welcome guest in the house, that the uncle and niece manifested much
regard for me, Giraud redoubled his cordiality toward me. I guessed his
motive; he had not come there without a purpose; he must have heard that
Mademoiselle Derbin was a marriageable person. A lovely and rich young
woman--what a fine chance to negotiate a marriage! He desired to
establish friendly communications in the house. He overwhelmed Caroline
with compliments, which, I thought, did not touch her at all; but he
listened with imperturbable patience while Monsieur Roquencourt recited
the rôle of Mascarille; that might obtain him an invitation to come
again.
But the neighbor who had brought him expressed a wish to go home. Giraud
took his leave regretfully, asking permission to pay his respects to the
uncle and niece when he happened to be driving at Saint-Mandé. They made
a courteous reply, and he went away enchanted. I went at the same time,
for I saw that he wished to speak to me. In fact, we were no sooner
outside the house, than he put his arm through mine, slackened his pace,
calling to his friend to go ahead, and plunged at once into conversation
with me.
“My dear fellow, it seems to me that you are very intimate, received on
very friendly terms at Monsieur Roquencourt’s?”
“Why, Monsieur Giraud, I flatter myself that I am well received wherever
I go. If it were otherwise----”
“That isn’t what I mean. Bless my soul! I know your merit, my friend,
although you no longer live with your wife; but that doesn’t prove
anything. Look you, this young Derbin woman is a magnificent match, if
what they tell me is true. But I shall make inquiries. Twenty-five
thousand francs a year, unencumbered, and expectations from her uncle!
and with all the rest, a pretty face, a fine figure, and talents! She
plays the piano; does she play anything else?”
“I never asked her.”
“Never mind! she is a most excellent match, and I have just the man that
she wants.”
“Indeed! you have----”
“Yes, you know very well that I always have husbands to offer. And so
when Dupont, who is ahead of us there, spoke to me about this young
lady, I said to him at once: ‘You must take me there.’--He has brought
me, and I shall come again. Are they always at home?”
“Except when they go out.”
“But I mean, are they going back to Paris?”
“I have no idea.”
“In that case, I shall come again soon; it is too good a chance not to
make haste; somebody else will get ahead of me. Luckily Saint-Mandé
isn’t far away, and there are the omnibuses. But you must help me a
little, my dear fellow. Sound the uncle and niece and mention my young
man to them.”
“What young man?”
“The one whom I shall propose as a husband; a fine young fellow of
twenty-two, an only son, with some money, who wants to buy a drug shop.
However, if he doesn’t suit, I have others. The important thing is to
find out whether the girl has any previous attachment.--Do you know
whether she has?”
“By what right, Monsieur Giraud, should I ask that young lady such a
question?”
“Bah! one can always find that out, without asking; however, never mind,
help me a little inside the house; and I will try to have Dupont help
too. I must overtake him now. My friend, sound the young lady, I beg
you. You can offer a very good-looking fellow, with a hundred thousand
francs, and two handsome inheritances in prospect. By the way, if she
doesn’t like the idea of a drug shop, which is very likely when she has
twenty-five thousand francs a year, he will buy a solicitor’s
practice--that will suit her better; or, if necessary, he won’t buy
anything at all.--Hallo! I say, Dupont, here I am!--The deuce! he is
quite capable of dining without me.”
Giraud left me. I could not help laughing at his mania for marrying
everybody; I had an idea that it was his only business, and that in
addition to ordering the wedding banquet, he obtained a commission from
the husband.
If he relied upon me to speak to Mademoiselle Derbin, he would be
disappointed in his expectations. Fancy my speaking in favor of a person
whom I did not know! Indeed, I did not see that it was so necessary for
people to marry at all.
Three days had passed since that meeting. I had forgotten Giraud, and I
am inclined to think that they thought little about him at Monsieur
Roquencourt’s.
I had gone out for a moment without my children; I did not intend to see
Caroline, but she was at the window when I passed; she saw me and
beckoned to me to come in. Her uncle was in the garden and she was alone
in the salon. Since our parting at Mont-d’Or, for some reason or other I
was always embarrassed when I was alone with her.
For some time we did not speak. That is what often happens when two
people have a great many things to say to each other. Caroline was
sitting at her piano, but she did not play.
“Why do I never hear you play now?” I asked.
“Because it depresses you, and I do not see the sense of causing you
pain.”
“There are memories which are painful and sweet at the same time. I
would like to hear once more that tune which you played the last time.”
“And which made your daughter cry? Poor child! how dearly I love her!”
Caroline turned to the piano and played Eugénie’s favorite piece. I
abandoned myself to the charm of listening and to the illusion of my
memories. My heart was swollen with tears, and yet I enjoyed it.
Caroline turned often to look at me, but I did not see her.
Suddenly a great uproar roused us from that situation, which had much
charm for us both. The doorbell rang violently. Soon we heard several
voices and the barking of a dog.
“What a nuisance!” cried Caroline; “one cannot be left in peace here a
moment; my uncle receives all his neighbors! I absolutely must lose my
temper with him.”
The noise kept increasing, and it seemed to me that I heard familiar
voices. At last they came toward the salon, and lo! Giraud entered, with
his wife, his daughter, one of his sons, and a tall young man dressed as
if for a ball, who dared not move for fear of disarranging the knot of
his cravat or rumpling his shirt collar.
Caroline watched the entrance of all those people with wide-open eyes.
Giraud came forward with an offhand air and introduced his wife, saying:
“Mademoiselle, I have the honor to offer my respects, and to introduce
my wife. Wife, this is mademoiselle, the niece of Monsieur Roquencourt,
from whom I received such a cordial welcome last Sunday, and who urged
me to call again when I was driving in this direction. These are my
eldest son and my daughter. Bow to the lady, my children. Monsieur is
one of our intimate friends; he was in our party and I took the liberty
of introducing him.--Good-day, my dear Blémont; delighted to find you
here again!”
Caroline bestowed a decidedly cool salutation upon the party; she
contented herself with pointing to chairs. The Giraud family seated
themselves; the young dandy took his seat on the edge of a couch, and
Giraud at once continued:
“But where is our dear uncle, the amiable Monsieur Roquencourt? Bless my
soul! how I did enjoy hearing him recite the part of Mascarille in
_L’Etourdi_! and Monsieur de Crac! Ah! how good he was! I made my wife
laugh heartily by telling her about it.--Didn’t I, my love?”
“Yes, my dear.--But, mon Dieu! what does Azor mean by searching under
all the chairs like that? Come here, Azor.--Monsieur Mouillé, just give
him a kick, if you please, to make him keep still.”
Monsieur Mouillé--that was the dandified young man’s name--rose and
tried to catch the dog. Being unable to do it, he gave him a kick, which
made Azor fly from the salon yelping just as Monsieur Roquencourt
entered. Everybody rose once more. Once more Monsieur Giraud introduced
his family and his young man, adding:
“Monsieur Mouillé does not come to the country often; he has so much
business to attend to since he inherited from his uncle the merchant,
who left him a hundred and fifty thousand francs and a buggy.--Was it a
buggy or a tilbury that your uncle had?”
“It was a jolting affair,” replied Monsieur Mouillé, without turning his
neck.
Giraud made a wry face and continued;
“Yes--in short, a carriage. That is very well for a young man of
twenty-three. But when I told him that we were going to pay a visit to
such agreeable people, he no longer hesitated to accompany us. Wife,
this is Monsieur Roquencourt, who, as I was saying just now, used to act
so well! Dieu! how you did make me laugh when you recited Mascarille!”
Monsieur Roquencourt seemed at first rather surprised to find so large a
party, brought by a man whom he had seen but once; but the instant that
the subject of acting was mentioned, his features dilated, his eyes
gleamed, and he exclaimed:
“Yes, pardieu! I should say that I have acted! and before Dugazon,
Larive and many others!”
“That is what I told my wife and Monsieur Mouillé, that you acted before
Dugazon. My dear, monsieur acted before Dugazon!”
“Mascarille is a fine part, very long; but, although I was very good in
it, especially when I said: _‘Vivat Mascarillus, fourbum imperator----’_”
“Ah! charming! delightful! isn’t it, wife? What did I tell you? _Fourbum
imperator_!--Stop your noise, children!”
“I had other parts that I preferred. First of all, Figaro. Ah! Figaro!
the costume is so pretty, and it was so becoming to me!”
“Yes, the costume must have been very becoming to you. Monsieur Mouillé,
didn’t you disguise yourself as Figaro once, to go to a magnificent ball
given by a contractor?”
“No, monsieur, I went as Pinçon, in _Je fais mes Farces_.”
“Oh! that is different.”
“To return to my costume,” said Monsieur Roquencourt, “it was white and
cherry, and made of silk throughout. I believe I have it yet.”
“White and cherry; and you have it yet! Ah! if you would put it on, how
kind it would be of you!”
Caroline, who had not uttered a word during this whole conversation, now
leaned over to me and whispered:
“Have these people come here with the purpose of making fun of my
uncle?”
“No, there is another motive, which I will tell you.”
Monsieur Roquencourt looked at Giraud a moment, but replied
good-naturedly:
“Oh, no! I can’t wear that costume again. It was twenty-five years ago
when I wore it, and since that time I have taken on flesh, a great deal
of flesh!”
“Yes, it is true, in twenty-five years one does change, one does grow
fat.--Monsieur Mouillé, it seems to me that you have grown since last
year.”
“Three lines,” replied Monsieur Mouillé with a bow.
“Three lines! the deuce! You will make a fine man! Mademoiselle has a
fine figure too, one of those graceful and slender figures which make
it impossible for a small man to offer her his arm.”
It was Caroline to whom this complimentary speech was addressed. She
glanced at me with an impatient gesture, but Giraud, who thought that he
had done the most graceful thing in the world in praising fine figures,
had not thought of Monsieur Roquencourt, who was very short. The uncle
stepped forward into the centre of the circle and said:
“Monsieur, you are greatly mistaken when you say that a man of medium
height should not offer his arm to a tall woman; Mademoiselle Contat was
by no means short, and she certainly found me a most satisfactory
escort.”
“Oh, Monsieur Roquencourt! Why, that is not what I said, or what I meant
to say! The devil! let us understand each other. Little man! deuce take
it! why, everybody knows that the heroes, the Alexanders, the
Fredericks, the Napoléons, were all men of short stature. Isn’t that so,
Monsieur Mouillé?--Wife, for heaven’s sake, make your daughter stop her
noise.”
“And on the stage, monsieur, it is much better to be short than tall,
for the stage makes everyone appear taller.”
“That is what I have said twenty times to my wife,--the stage makes
people taller; and you know something about it, Monsieur Roquencourt.”
“Yes, indeed I do. A tall man cannot play Figaro, or Mascarille, or
Scapin.--Ah! how quick and active I was as Scapin! I had my portrait
painted in the character.”
“Your portrait as Scapin! Was it exhibited in the Salon?”
“They wanted to paint me as Monsieur de Crac too.”
“Monsieur de Crac! My wife is still laughing because I repeated some
scenes to her, after you. Ah! Monsieur Roquencourt! if you would only be
good enough--Monsieur Mouillé has never seen Monsieur de Crac,--Have
you, Monsieur Mouillé?”
“I beg your pardon,” replied the young man, “I think that I have seen it
acted at Bobino’s.”
“Ha! ha! at Bobino’s, eh?” cried Monsieur Roquencourt. “Pardieu! that
must have been fine! A difficult rôle like that! In the first place, you
must be careful about the accent:[2]
“Dé façon qué dé loin sur lé pauvre animal
Lé perdreau, sans mentir, semblait être à chéval,
Et fût resté longtemps dans la même posture,
Si mon chien n’avait pris cavalier et monture.
Eh donc, que dites-vous?”
[2] That is, the Gascon accent.
During this declamation, Giraud stamped on the floor and pretended to
writhe with pleasure on his chair; Madame Giraud was occupied solely in
keeping her children quiet, and Monsieur Mouillé did not stir.
“Ah! bravo! bravo!” cried Giraud. “I say, wife, you never heard such
acting as that, did you?--Monsieur Mouillé, you should consider yourself
very fortunate to have come to Saint-Mandé with us! very fortunate in
every respect, indeed, for there is everything here that can seduce and
fascinate!--Oh! Monsieur Roquencourt, something else--just a fragment or
two.”
“I wonder if this sort of thing is going to last long,” Caroline
whispered to me. I smiled but said nothing. Monsieur Roquencourt did not
wait to be asked twice. He stepped forward again to the centre of the
salon:
“Here is a passage from the scene in which he is asked about his son;
and it is his son himself who questions him, unrecognized by him.”
“Ah, yes! I see.--Wife, somebody asks him about his son. Attention,
Monsieur Mouillé! And it is his son himself. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand at all,” replied the young man.
“Yes, you do; yes, you do.--Hush! be quiet, children!”
“.... Il sert contré lé Russe;
Mais il sert tout dé bon. Ah! lé feu roi dé Prusse,
Savait l’apprécier; et lé grand Frédéric,
En fait d’opinion, valait tout un public.
Il admirait mon fils--J’en ai----”
Monsieur Roquencourt was interrupted in his declamation by the cook, who
rushed into the room, exclaiming:
“Mon Dieu! what on earth is this dog that’s just come here,
mademoiselle? He came into my kitchen and jumped at everything there is
there; he ate at one gulp the remains of the chicken that was on the
table, and he’s just carried off the leg of mutton that was for your
dinner.”
“Oh! it’s because he’s thirsty!” cried Giraud; “give him some water; he
was very hot, give him some water, if you please, and then he will fawn
all over you.”
“Monsieur,” said Caroline, rising and walking forward, with a very
decided air, toward Giraud, “I am very sorry, but you really must give
your dog water somewhere else; my uncle should remember that we have to
go out this morning, we have very little time, and we cannot have the
pleasure of detaining you any longer.”
As she said this, Caroline gave her uncle a glance which he understood
very clearly, and he faltered:
“Yes--yes, I believe that we have to go out.”
Giraud seemed thunderstruck; he looked at his wife, who looked at
Monsieur Mouillé, who looked at his trousers to see if they were
creased.
However, the family rose; the dandified young man followed their
example, and Giraud bowed low, saying:
“As you have an engagement, of course we do not desire to detain you;
another time I trust that we shall be more fortunate, and that we may
form a connection of which the fortunate result--Monsieur Mouillé,
present your respects to mademoiselle. Bow, children.--Monsieur
Roquencourt, we shall not forget your great amiability.--Azor! here,
Azor! Azor! Oh! he will certainly come.--Au revoir, my dear Blémont.”
The family backed out of the room, bowing, and Giraud whispered in my
ear:
“Has she a previous attachment? If this young man doesn’t suit her, I
have others to offer. Write me what she has said to you.”
They left the salon at last, and they succeeded in finding Azor, who
rushed out of the house with a mutton bone in his teeth.
When the visitors had gone, Caroline said to the maid and the gardener:
“If those people ever show their faces here again, don’t forget to say
that we are not at home. Really, their impertinence is beyond bounds.”
“Never fear, mademoiselle,” said the cook; “I don’t want to see the
masters again any more than the dog. I’ve got my dinner to prepare all
over again now.”
“It’s my uncle’s fault; he invites everybody he sees; so long as they
talk of the theatre and acting to him, that’s enough for him; he would
declaim before chimney sweeps!”
“You go too far, niece; did I go in search of this gentleman, and tell
him to bring his wife and children and dog? He thinks that I act well,
and I see nothing extraordinary in that; many other people besides him
have thought the same. But as to declaiming before chimney sweeps!
However, chimney sweeps may have a very keen perception; the common
people aren’t such bad judges as you seem to think, and Dugazon told me
several times that at free performances the applause never came except
when it was deserved. But you have no appreciation of acting, and before
you it would be useless to have talent.”
Monsieur Roquencourt was offended; he left us and went to his room. I
also attempted to leave, but Caroline detained me, saying:
“Just a moment, if you please. You know this Monsieur Giraud, who seemed
determined to plant himself here with his whole family and his friends
too. He spoke to you in an undertone. You told me that you would tell me
the purpose of his visit; will you be kind enough to do so, monsieur?”
I sat down again beside Caroline, and I could not help smiling as I said
to her:
“Mademoiselle, this Monsieur Giraud has a mania, or a vocation for
arranging marriages. When he learned that you were still unattached, he
at once conceived the plan of finding a husband for you.”
“The impertinent fellow! Why should he mix himself up in the matter?”
“As he is convinced that everybody must always come to that at last, he
displays the most incredible perseverance in his schemes. He had already
requested me to speak to you in favor of the young man whom he brought
here to-day.”
“What! that great booby?”
“He was an aspirant for your hand, yes, mademoiselle; and, despite the
unflattering welcome that you bestowed upon Giraud and his protégé, I
should not be at all surprised if he returned to the charge again soon,
with a new _parti_.”
“I assure you, monsieur, that I shall not receive him again. What you
have told me makes the man more intolerable to me. The idea of
attempting to arrange a marriage for me! Can one imagine such a thing?”
Caroline’s face had become serious. She lowered her eyes and seemed to
be lost in thought; after a moment she continued:
“Marry! oh, no! I shall never marry. For a moment I thought that it was
possible. It was a delightful dream that I had, but it was only a dream.
I deceived myself cruelly!”
Those words distressed me greatly, and yet, could I be sure that they
were addressed to me? I could not try to ascertain; but in spite of
myself, I moved nearer to Caroline, who had dropped her head sadly upon
her breast, and I took her hand, which I had never done before; but she
seemed so depressed that I longed to comfort her. I did not know what to
say to her. I dared not ask her the reason of her determination. We sat
a long while thus without speaking; my hand gently pressed hers, but
that did not comfort her, for tears poured from her eyes. Then I put my
arm about her waist; I felt her heart beat beneath my fingers. I almost
breathed her breath.
Suddenly she pushed me away, moved her chair away from mine and
exclaimed:
“Ah! I did not believe that I was so weak; but at all events I will not
be wicked; no, I will not add to the grief of a woman whom I pity,
whose happiness I would like to restore. And since I am unable to
conceal my feelings from you, we must meet henceforth only in company,
only before strangers; yes, I swear to you that this is the last
tête-à-tête that we shall have.”
Having said this, she hurried from the salon, and I left the house,
realizing that we should in truth do well to avoid each other.