Towards the beginning of last autumn, amongst a number of persons
assembled in Doctor Magnian's waiting room, sat a man of about forty
years of age, fair complexioned, thin, pale, with a slight stoop in his
shoulders, and altogether of a weak and sickly aspect, that would have
convinced any one he was in the house of a physician. On his entrance,
this person had established himself in a corner with an uneasy air, and
there waited until all the other patients had had their consultations.
When the last had departed, the master of the house approached him with
a friendly smile.
"Good morning, Bouchereau," said the doctor; "excuse me for making you
wait; but my time belongs in the first instance to the sick, and I trust
you have no such claim on an early audience."
"The sufferings of the mind are worse than those of the body," said the
pale man, with a stifled sigh.
"What's the matter?" cried the doctor. "You look haggard and anxious.
Surely Madame Bouchereau is not ill?"
"My wife is in robust health," replied Bouchereau, smiling bitterly.
"Then what is the cause of your agitation? The mind, say you? If you do
not speak, how am I to tell what passes in yours? Come, how can I serve
you?"
"My dear doctor," said the other, sitting down with a most dejected
countenance, "we have known each other for twenty years. I look upon you
as my best friend, and in you I have unlimited confidence."
"Well, well!" said the doctor--"enough of compliments."
"They are not compliments; I speak from my heart. And the strange
confession I have resolved to make to you will be sufficient proof of my
esteem for your character."
"To the point!" cried Magnian impatiently.
"The fact is melancholy for me, and may even appear ridiculous. That is
why I hesitate. Promise me, in the first place, never to reveal what I
am about to tell you."
"The secret of the confessional is as sacred for the physician as for
the priest," said Doctor Magnian gravely.
Bouchereau again sighed, bit his lips, and gazed up at the ceiling. "You
know Pelletier?" he at last said, looking piteously at his friend.
"The captain on the staff? Of course I do. Sanguine habit, short neck,
more shoulders than brains, organisation of a bull! I have always
predicted he would die of apoplexy."
"Heaven fulfil your prophecy!"
"You astonish me! I thought you friends."
"Friends!" repeated Bouchereau, with mingled irony, and indignation.
"_Que diantre!_ Speak out, or hold your tongue. I am no Oedipus to
guess your riddle."
The impatience that sparkled in the doctor's eyes brought his doleful
friend to the substance of his intended confession.
"Well, my dear Magnian," said he, in an agitated voice, "in two words,
here is the case: Pelletier makes love to my wife."
To conceal a smile, the doctor protruded his under-lip, and nodded his
head several times with affected gravity.
"Who would have thought it?" he at last exclaimed. "I never suspected
the great dragoon of such good taste. But are you quite sure? Husbands
are usually the last persons to discover those things."
"I am only too sure; and you shall hear how. My wife is at Fontainbleau,
passing a few days with her mother. The day before yesterday I happened
to remark that the key of my desk fitted her drawers. Mechanically, I
opened one of them, and in a sort of mysterious pigeon-hole I found
several letters from Pelletier."
"The deuce you did! But why open drawers belonging to your wife?"
"It is my right. Besides, do not judge hastily. From the tenor of the
correspondence, I am convinced Virginia's only fault is to have received
the letters and concealed the fact from me. I am pretty sure she has
given the writer no encouragement, and I am therefore much less angry
with her than with Pelletier. Him I will never pardon. A man to whom I
have thrown open my house! an old comrade at Sainte Barbe! A friend, in
short; at least I thought him so!"
"You forget that one is never betrayed but by one's friends."
"I called upon him yesterday."
"Ah!"
"I reproached him with his shameful conduct. Can you guess his answer?"
"He denied the fact."
"At first. But when I showed him his letters he saw it was useless to
lie. 'My dear Bouchereau,' he said, in his impertinent manner, 'since
you know all about it, I will not take the trouble to contradict you. It
is perfectly true that I am in love with your wife; I have told her so
already, and I cannot promise you that I will not tell her so again, for
very likely I should not keep my promise. I perfectly understand my
conduct may be disagreeable to you, but you know I am too much the
gentleman not to accept the responsibility of my acts and deeds. And if
you feel offended, I am at your orders, ready to give you satisfaction,
when, where, and how you like.'"
"Very cool indeed!" said the physician, struggling violently to keep his
countenance. "What! he had the effrontery to tell you that?"
"Word for word."
"And what was your answer?"
"That he should hear from me shortly. Then I left him, deeming further
discussion unbecoming. And so the matter stands."
The Doctor looked grave. After walking once up and down the room, his
eyes on the ground, his hands behind his back, he returned to his
visitor.
"What shall you do?" he said, looking him steadily in the face.
"What do you advise?"
"Such behaviour is very hard to put up with, but on the other hand, I
should be sorry to see you engaged in a duel with that bully Pelletier."
"A professed duellist," cried Bouchereau, his eyes opening wider and
wider; "a man who passes his mornings in the shooting gallery and
fencing room, and has a duel regularly once a quarter!"
"And you," said the Doctor with a piercing look, "have you ever fought a
duel?"
"Never," replied the married man, looking paler even than his wont; "not
but that I have had opportunities, but duelling is repugnant to my
principles. The idea of shedding blood shocks me; it is a barbarous
custom, a monstrous anomaly in these civilised days."
"In short, you have no very strong desire to enter the lists?"
"Were I positively outraged, had I a mortal injury to revenge, the voice
of passion would perhaps drown that of humanity; for, in certain
moments, the wisest man cannot answer for himself. But in this instance,
the affair not being so serious, if Pelletier, instead of affecting an
arrogant tone, had made the apology to which I think I have a right, and
had promised to behave better in future, then--all things considered--to
avoid scandal--don't you think it would have been possible and
honourable--"
"Not to fight?" interrupted Magnian; "certainly. If you go out with
Pelletier, ten to one that he bleeds you like a barn-door fowl, and that
would be unpleasant."
"Doctor, you misunderstand me."
"Not at all. And to prove the contrary, you shall not fight, and the
Captain shall make you a satisfactory apology. Is not that what you
want?"
The Doctor's penetration called up a faint flush on the cheek of the
lover of peace.
"Pelletier is a brute," resumed Magnian, as if speaking to himself.
"Staff officers have generally more breeding than that. To make love to
the wife, well and good; but to defy the husband is contrary to all the
rules of polite society."
"You advise me, then, to let the matter be arranged?" said Bouchereau,
in an insinuating tone.
"Certainly," replied the physician laughing, "and what is more, I
undertake the negotiation. I repeat my words: to-morrow Pelletier shall
retract his provocation, make you a formal apology, and swear never
again to disturb your conjugal felicity. This is my share of the
business; the rest concerns you."
"The rest?"
"It is one thing to promise, another to perform. It would be prudent to
facilitate the observance of the Captain's vow by a little tour, which
for a few months would remove Madame Bouchereau from the immediate
vicinity of this military Adonis. His duty keeps him at Paris; you are
free. Why not pass the winter in the South: at Nice, for instance?"
"It has already occurred to me that a short absence would be desirable,
and I rejoice to find you of my opinion. But why Nice, rather than any
other town?"
"The climate is extremely salutary, especially for a person whose chest
is rather delicate."
"But my chest is very strong,--at least I hope so," interrupted
Bouchereau, in an uneasy tone, and trying to read the Doctor's thoughts.
"Certainly; I say nothing to the contrary," replied Magnian gravely; "I
have no particular motive for my advice; but precautions never do harm,
and it is easier to prevent than cure."
"You think me threatened with consumption!" cried Bouchereau, who, as
has been shown, entertained the warmest affection for Number One.
"I said nothing of the sort," replied the physician, as if reproaching
himself for having said too much. "If you want to know why I proposed
Nice, I will tell you: it is from a selfish motive. I shall probably
pass part of this winter there, and my stay would be made very agreeable
by the society of yourself and Madame Bouchereau."
"Well, we will see; the thing may be arranged," replied Bouchereau. And
he left the house, more uneasy than he entered it; for to the
apprehension of a duel was superadded the fear of a dangerous disease,
by which he had never before contemplated the possibility of his being
attacked.
At six o'clock that evening, Doctor Magnian entered the Cafe Anglais,
where he made pretty sure to find Pelletier. Nor was he mistaken; the
gallant Captain was there, solitarily installed at a little table, and
dining very heartily, without putting water in his wine. He was a tall,
stout, vigorous fellow, square in the shoulder, narrow in the hip, with
a bold keen eye, a well-grown mustache, a high complexion, and a
muscular arm; one of those men of martial mien who would seem to have
missed their vocation if they were not soldiers, and whose aspect
inspires the most presumptuous with a certain reserve and modesty. More
doughty champions than the cadaverous Bouchereau might have shrunk from
an encounter with a lion of such formidable breed.
The physician and the officer saluted each other cordially, and after
exchanging a few compliments, took their dinner at different tables.
They left the coffee-house at the same time, and meeting at the door,
walked arm in arm along the boulevard, in the direction of the
Madeleine.
"Well, Doctor," said Pelletier jocosely, "have you found me what I have
asked you for at least ten times: a pretty woman--maid or widow, fair or
dark, tall or short, all one to me--who will consent to make me the
happiest of men, by uniting her lot with mine? I ask only a hundred
thousand crowns: you must own I am modest in my expectations."
"Too modest! you are worth more than that."
"You are laughing at me?"
"Not at all; besides the moment would be ill chosen to jest, for I have
a serious affair on hand. Bouchereau has commissioned me to speak to
you."
"And you call that a serious affair?" said the Captain, laughing
scornfully.
"A matter that can only end in bloodshed, appears to me deserving of the
epithet," said the Doctor, with assumed gravity.
"Ah! M. Bouchereau thirsts for my blood?" cried Pelletier, laughing
still louder; "hitherto, I took him to be rather herbivorous than
carniverous. And with what sauce does he propose to eat me--sword or
pistol?"
"He leaves you the choice of arms," replied M. Magnian, with
imperturbable seriousness.
"It's all one to me. I told him so already. Let me see: to-morrow I
breakfast with some of my comrades; it is a sort of regimental feed, and
I should not like to miss it, but the day after to-morrow, I'm your man.
Will that do?"
"Perfectly. The day after to-morrow, seven in the morning, at the
entrance of the forest of Vincennes."
"Agreed," said the Captain, familiarly slapping his companion's arm with
his large brawny hand. "So you meddle with duelling, Doctor? I should
have thought a man of your profession would have looked upon it as a
dangerous competitor."
The physician replied to this very old joke, by a malicious smile, which
he immediately repressed.
"At random you have touched me on the raw," he said, after a moment's
silence. "Shall I tell you the strange, I might say the monstrous idea
that has just come into my head?"
"Pray do. I am rather partial to monstrous ideas."
"It occurred to me that for the interest of my reputation, I ought to
wish the projected duel to prove fatal to Bouchereau."
"Why so?" inquired the officer, with some surprise.
"Because if you don't kill him, in less than a year I shall have the
credit of his death."
"I don't understand. Are you going to fight him?"
"Certainly not; but I am his physician, and as such, responsible for his
existence in the eyes of the vast number of persons who expect medical
science to give sick men the health that nature refuses them. Therefore,
as Bouchereau, according to all appearance, has not a year to live----"
"What's the matter with him?" cried Pelletier, opening his great eyes.
"Consumption!" replied the Doctor, in a compassionate tone, "a chronic
disease--quite incurable! I was about sending him to Nice. We,
physicians, as you know, when we have exhausted the resources of
medicine, send our patients to the waters or to the South. If nothing
happens to him the day after to-morrow, he shall set out: God knows if
he will ever return."
"Consumptive! he who is always as sallow as Debureau."
"Complexion has nothing to do with it."
"And you think he is in danger?"
"I do not give him a year to live; perhaps not six months."
The two men walked some distance, silent and serious.
"Yes, Captain," said the Doctor, breaking the pause, "we may look upon
Poor Bouchereau as a dead man, even setting aside the risk he incurs
from your good blade. Before twelve months are past, his wife may think
about a second husband. She will be a charming little widow, and will
not want for admirers."
Pelletier cast a sidelong look at his companion, but the Doctor's air of
perfect simplicity dispelled the suspicion his last words had awakened.
"If Bouchereau died, his wife would be rich?" said the Captain,
musingly, but in an interrogative tone.
"_Peste!_" replied Magnian, "you may say that. Not one hundred thousand,
but two hundred thousand crowns, at the very least."
"You exaggerate!" cried the Captain, his eyes suddenly sparkling.
"Easy to calculate," said Magnian confidently--"Madame Bouchereau
inherited a hundred thousand francs from her father, she will have a
hundred and fifty thousand from her mother, and her husband will leave
her three hundred and fifty thousand more: add that up."
"Her husband's fortune is secured to her, then, by marriage contract?"
inquired Pelletier, who had listened with rapidly increasing interest to
his companion's enumeration.
"Every _sou_," replied the physician, solemnly.
The two words were worth an hour's oration, and with a person whom he
esteemed intelligent, M. Magnian would not have added another. But,
remembering that the Captain, as he had said a few hours before, was
more richly endowed with shoulders than with brains, he did not fear to
weigh a little heavily upon an idea from which he expected a magical
result.
"For you," he jestingly resumed, "who have the bump of matrimony finely
developed, here would be a capital match. Young, pretty, amiable, and a
fortune of six hundred thousand francs. Though, to be sure, if you kill
the husband, you can hardly expect to marry the widow."
Pelletier forced a laugh, which ill agreed with the thoughtful
expression his physiognomy had assumed; then he changed the
conversation. Certain that he had attained his end, the Doctor pleaded a
professional visit, and left the Captain upon the boulevard, struck to
the very heart by the six hundred thousand francs of the future widow.
Without halt or pause, and with the furious velocity of a wounded
wild-boar, Pelletier went, without help of omnibus, from the Madeleine
to the Bastille. When he reached the Porte St Martin, his determination
was already taken.
"Without knowing it," he thought, "the Doctor has given me excellent
advice. Fight Bouchereau! not so stupid. I should kill him; I am so
unlucky! and then how could I reappear before Virginia? The little
coquette views me with no indifferent eye; and luckily I have made love
to her for the last three months, so that when the grand day comes, she
cannot suppose I love her for her money. Kill Bouchereau! that _would_
be absurd. Let him die in his bed, the dear man--I shall not prevent it.
I shall have plenty of fighting with my rivals, as soon as his wife is a
widow. Six hundred thousand francs! They'll throng about her like bees
round a honey-pot. But let them take care; I'm first in the field, and
not the man to let them walk over my body."
The following morning, long before the consultations had begun, the
Captain strode into Magnian's reception room.
"Doctor," said he, with military frankness, "what you said yesterday
about Bouchereau's illness, has made me seriously reflect. I cannot
fight a man who has only six months to live. Suppose I wound him: a
hurt, of which another would get well, might be mortal to one in his
state of health; and then I should reproach myself, all my life, with
having killed an old friend for a mere trifle. Did he tell you the cause
of our quarrel?"
"No," replied the Doctor, who, in his capacity of negotiator, thought
himself at liberty to lie.
"A few hasty words," said Pelletier, deceived by Magnian's candid air;
"in fact, I believe I was in the wrong. You know I am very hasty; a
propos of some trifle or other, I was rough to poor Bouchereau, and now
I am sorry for it. In short, I have had enough duels to be able to avoid
one without any body suspecting a white feather in my wing. So if you
will advise Bouchereau to let the matter drop, I give you _carte
blanche_. Between ourselves, I think he will not be sorry for it."
"You may find yourself mistaken, Captain," replied the Doctor, with
admirable seriousness; "yesterday Bouchereau was much exasperated:
although of peaceable habits, he is a perfect tiger when his blood is
up. It appears that you hurt his feelings, and unless you make a formal
apology----"
"Well, well," interrupted Pelletier, "it is not much in my way to
apologise, and this is the first time; but with an old friend, I will
stretch a point. I would rather make concessions than have to reproach
myself hereafter. Shall we go to Bouchereau?"
"Let us go," said the Doctor, who could hardly help smiling to see how
the voice of interest instilled sensibility and humanity into the heart
of a professed duellist.
When Magnian and the officer entered his drawing-room, Bouchereau, who
had not shut his eyes the whole night, experienced all the sensations of
the criminal to whom sentence of death is read. But the first words
spoken restored fluidity to his blood, for a moment frozen in his veins.
The Captain made the most explicit and formal apology, and retired after
shaking the hand of his old friend, who, overjoyed at his escape, did
not show himself very exacting.
"Doctor, you are a sorcerer!" cried Bouchereau, as soon as he found
himself alone with the physician.
"It is almost part of my profession," replied Magnian laughing.
"However, the terrible affair is nearly arranged. I have done my share;
do yours. When shall you set out for the south?"
The satisfaction depicted on Bouchereau's physiognomy vanished, and was
replaced by sombre anxiety.
"Doctor," said he, in an altered voice, "You must tell me the truth; I
have resolution to hear my sentence with calmness; my chest is attacked,
is it not?"
"You mean your head."
"My head also!" cried Bouchereau, positively green with terror.
"You are mad," said the Doctor, shrugging his shoulders; "I would
willingly change my chest for yours."
"You deceive me. I cannot forget what escaped you yesterday. I coughed
all night long, and I have a pain between my shoulders which I never
perceived before."
"All fancy!"
"I feel what I feel," continued Bouchereau gloomily; "I do not fear
death; but I confess that I could not, without regret, bid an eternal
adieu, in the prime of life, to my wife and family. It is my duty to be
cautious for their sake, if not for my own. Instead of writing to
Virginia to return home, I will join her at Fontainbleau, and start at
once for Nice."
"Go," said the doctor, "the journey cannot hurt you."
"But do you think it will benefit me?"
"Without a doubt."
"It is not too late, then, to combat this frightful malady."
"Oh, you are not very far gone," said Magnian ironically. "I shall be at
Nice myself in less than six weeks, so that you are sure to be attended
by a physician in whom you have confidence, if, contrary to all
probability, your state of health requires it."
The two friends parted: the Doctor laughing at his patient's fears, the
patient imagining himself in imminent peril, and almost doubting whether
it would not have been better to fall by the terrible sword of Captain
Pelletier than to linger and expire, in the flower of his age, upon an
inhospitable foreign shore. In two days, Bouchereau, haunted by his
funereal visions, had taken out his passport, arranged his affairs, and
completed his preparations. Getting into a post-chaise, he made his
unexpected appearance at Fontainbleau; and, exerting his marital
authority to an extent he had never previously ventured upon, he carried
off his wife, stupified by such a sudden decision, and greatly vexed to
leave Paris, which Pelletier's languishing epistles had lately made her
find an unusually agreeable residence. By the end of the week, the
husband and wife, one trembling for his life, the other regretting her
admirer, arrived at Nice, where, towards the close of the autumn, they
were joined by Dr Magnian, who thus showed himself scrupulously exact in
the fulfilment of his promise.
On an evening of the month of April following, the tragedy of _Les
Horaces_ was performed at the _Theatre Francais_. Thanks to the young
talent of Mademoiselle Rachel, rather than to the old genius of
Corneille, the house was crowded. In the centre of the right-hand
balcony, Captain Pelletier, accompanied by some blusterers of the same
kidney, talked loud, laughed ditto, criticised the actors and
spectators, and disturbed all his neighbours, without any one venturing
to call him to order; so powerful, in certain cases, is the influence of
an insolent look, a ferocious mustache, and an elephantine build.
After examining with his opera glass every corner of the theatre, from
the pit to the roof, the Captain at last caught sight of a group, snugly
installed in a comfortable box, which at once fixed his attention. It
consisted of Monsieur and Madame Bouchereau, in front, and of Doctor
Magnian, seated behind the lady. The appearance and attitude of these
three persons were characteristic. With his usual pallid complexion and
unhappy look, his eyes adorned with a pair of blue spectacles--a new
embellishment, which he owed to an imaginary ophthalmia--the pacific
husband whiled away the _entr'acte_ by the study of a play-bill, which
he abandoned when the curtain rose, to bestow his deepest attention on
the actors, even though none but the inferior characters were on the
stage. Madame Bouchereau trifled with an elegant nosegay, whose perfume
she frequently inhaled, and whose crimson flowers contrasted so well
with the fairness of her complexion, as to justify a suspicion that
there was some coquetry in the manoeuvre executed with such apparent
negligence. Leaning back in her chair, she frequently turned her head,
the better to hear Magnian's smiling and half-whispered remarks. The
husband paid no attention to their conversation, and did not seem to
remark its intimate and confidential character.
"Who is it you have been looking at for the last quarter of an hour?"
inquired one of the Captain's comrades. "At your old flame, Madame
Bouchereau? I thought you had forgotten her long ago."
"I did not know she had returned from Nice," replied Pelletier, with a
reserved air.
"She has been at Paris a fort-night."
"Does not Bouchereau look very ill? The southern climate has not done
him much good. He is twice as pale as before he went. Poor Bouchereau!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed the officer, "have you been gulled by the story of the
decline? That is really too good."
"What is too good?" asked the Captain abruptly.
"The trick that rogue Magnian played Bouchereau and you; for if I may
judge from your astonished look, you also have been mystified."
"Berton, you abuse my patience," said Pelletier in a surly tone.
"Wolves do not eat one another," replied Berton laughing; "so let us
talk without anger. The story is this:--all Paris, except yourself, has
been laughing at it for a week past. It appears that on the one hand,
although no one suspected it, the aforesaid Magnian was in love with
Madame Bouchereau, and that on the other, finding himself threatened
with a pulmonary complaint, he thought it advisable to pass the winter
in a warm climate. What did the arch-schemer? He persuaded Bouchereau
that it was he, Bouchereau, whose chest was affected; sent him off to
Nice with his pretty wife, and, at his leisure, without haste or hurry,
joined them there. You have only to look at them, as they sit yonder, to
guess the _denouement_ of the history. The appropriate label for their
box would be the title of one of Paul de Kock's last novels; _la Femme_,
_le Mari_, _el l'Amant_. Magnian is a cunning dog, and has very
ingenious ideas. Fearing, doubtless, that the husband might be too
clear-sighted, he threatened him with an ophthalmia, and made him wear
blue spectacles. Clever, wasn't it? and a capital story?"
"Charming, delightful!" cried the Captain, with a smile that resembled a
gnashing of teeth.
The tragedy was over. Dr Magnian left his box; Pelletier followed his
example. The next minute the two men met in the lobby.
"Doctor, a word with you," said the officer sternly.
"Two, if you like, Captain," was Magnian's jovial reply.
"It appears, that in spite of your prognostics, Bouchereau is in perfect
health."
"_Voudriez-vous qu'il mourut?_ Would you have him die?" said the Doctor,
parodying with a comical emphasis the delivery of Joanny, who had taken
the part of the father of the Horatii.
"I know you are excellent at a joke," retorted Pelletier, whose vexation
was rapidly turning to anger; "but you know that I am not accustomed to
serve as a butt. Be good enough to speak seriously. Is it true that
Bouchereau was never in danger?"
"In great danger, on the contrary. Was he not about fighting you?"
"So that when you sent him to Nice----?"
"It was to prevent the duel. As a physician, I watch over the health of
my clients; and it was my duty to preserve Bouchereau from your sword,
which is said to be a terrible malady."
"One of which you will perhaps have to cure yourself before very long,"
exclaimed the Captain, completely exasperated by the Doctor's coolness.
"The idiot Bouchereau may die of fear, or of any thing else. I certainly
shall not do him the honour to meddle with him; but you, my friend, so
skilled in sharp jests, I shall be glad to see if your valour equals
your wit."
The part of an unfortunate and mystified rival is so humiliating, that
Pelletier's vanity prevented his stating his real ground of complaint,
and mentioning the name of Madame Bouchereau. The Doctor imitated his
reserve, and listened to the officer's defiance with the same tranquil
smile which had previously played upon his countenance.
"My dear Captain," he said, "at this moment you would particularly like
to pass your good sword through my body, or to lodge a ball in my
leg--for, in consideration of our old friendship, I presume you would
spare my head. You shall have the opportunity, if you positively insist
upon it. But if you kill me, who will arrange your marriage with
Mademoiselle Nanteuil?"
Pelletier stared at his adversary with an astonished look, which
redoubled the Doctor's good humour.
"Who is Mademoiselle Nanteuil?" he at last said, his voice involuntarily
softening.
"An amiable heiress whom I attend, although she is in perfect health;
who has two hundred thousand francs in possession, as much more in
perspective, and who, if an intelligent friend undertook the
negotiation, would consent, I think, to bestow her hand and fortune upon
a good-looking fellow like yourself."
"Confound this Magnian!" said the Captain, taking the Doctor's arm, "it
is impossible to be angry with him."