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[This etext contains both volumes of Sans-Cravate as
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[Illustration: _Copyright Copyright 1903 by G. Barrie & Sons._
_THE QUARREL AT THE WINE SHOP_
_Bastringuette, with a violent wrench, released her arm from the hand
that held it; and snatching a plate from the table, held it over
Sans-Cravate's head, as if to strike him with it._]
NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME III
SANS-CRAVATE;
OR,
THE MESSENGERS
VOL. I
PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
[Illustration]
GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS
THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK
_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._
SANS-CRAVATE;
OR,
THE MESSENGERS
I
THE IDLERS.--BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS
Three young men, arm in arm, were walking, or, to speak more accurately,
loitering, along Boulevard des Italiens, looking to right and left,
scrutinizing the women at close quarters, especially when they were
pretty; commenting aloud on the face of one and the bearing of another,
interspersing their reflections with jests, puns, foolish remarks, and
bursts of laughter; and, lastly, smoking cigars, an accomplishment which
is now indispensable to the young men of fashion whose ordinary
promenade is the Boulevard de la Chaussée d'Antin.
It is a little world in itself that frequents Boulevard des Italiens, a
fashionable, aristocratic, eccentric boulevard, where, none the less,
many of the promenaders affect manners, dress, and language which remind
us forcibly of Diogenes. Each portion of a large city has its quarters,
with their habitués and their residents, whose dress, language, and
manners have their own peculiar characteristics. Thus, there is a marked
difference between the costume of an annuitant of the Marais and that of
the ex-young man of the Chaussée d'Antin; between the dress of a grande
dame of Faubourg Saint-Germain and that of a bourgeois housewife of the
Cité; between the grisette of Rue Saint-Jacques and her of Place Bréda,
who has lately taken the name of lorette. Of course, the residents of
one quarter do not remain altogether on their own territory, and they
may sometimes be met with in a neighboring section. But, even then, a
practised eye never makes a mistake; it recognizes the strangers at
once, and does not confound them with the natives of the quarter. In
vain do the former try to assume the bearing and manners of the
latter--the natural instincts, when we try to drive them away, return at
a gallop, and it would be as difficult for a government clerk who lives
on Rue Saint-Antoine to resemble a clerk in a banking house on Rue
Laffite, as for a siren of Place Maubert to copy the manners of a young
lady of Faubourg Saint-Honoré.
Boulevard des Italiens is no ordinary promenade; it deserves the
attention of the observer; indeed, it is worthy of a chapter in the
history of Paris, for it has changed its name more than once in
accordance with political exigencies.
At the time of the Revolution of '89, this segment of the boulevards was
called Coblentz, and it retained that name under the Empire. Not until
1815, at the time of the Second Restoration, did it exchange the name of
Coblentz for that of Gand. The former name recalled the place of
rendezvous of the _émigrés_ of the Revolution; the other, the second
return of Louis XVIII. The French have always loved to bring politics
into the most trivial things; they have brought it into their ballads
and into the names of flowers; so they could consistently give a
political tinge to the name of a fashionable promenade. But the great
majority of the ladies who resort to Boulevard des Italiens in search of
conquests put no politics in their smiles; they are cosmopolites, for
they have been known to dart glances impartially at republicans and
legitimists, at old soldiers of the Empire and favorites of the
Restoration; it has been observed, however, that they affect more
particularly the partisans of the _juste-milieu_.
But do not believe that all the ladies who occupy the chairs along the
boulevard of a pleasant evening go thither to make conquests! The very
best society was often to be seen on Boulevard Coblentz, and later on
Boulevard de Gand; and may be seen sometimes, but more rarely, on
Boulevard des Italiens.
People go there to discuss the new ballet at the Opéra, the last
performance at the Bouffes, the reception of Madame la Comtesse Blank,
and the ball recently given by the richest banker of the quarter. Some
meet there by appointment; some pay visits there. You will see young men
approach a party of ladies, stop before their chairs, salute them and
pay them compliments as they would do in a salon; and, after a few
moments' conversation, take leave of them and continue their stroll,
stopping again, perhaps, a little farther on, to speak to others of
their acquaintances.
Some years ago, it was the fashion to make a careful toilet before going
to Boulevard de Gand; the ladies would exhibit a new style of
head-dress, the men were all fashionably dressed; when one of them
appeared with a coat of a new cut, the fashion was instantly adopted by
the dandies of the capital.
Other times, other manners! It is no longer the fashion to dress for a
stroll on Boulevard des Italiens. Now that the cigar has invaded that
quarter, and most of the men smoke, the most fashionable young men seem
to affect a simple, even severe, costume, which makes them resemble the
Puritans, as their beards remind one of the young noblemen of the time
of François I.
Let us return to our three idlers.
The one in the middle, who was not more than twenty-two years of age,
was above medium height; he was well built, slender, easy and graceful
in his bearing, and wore with much grace a morning costume, whose cut
betrayed the hand of an ultra-fashionable tailor. He wore patent-leather
boots, and carried in his hand a pretty little switch, the head of which
was a beautiful bit of chased silver. The young man's face did not clash
with the attractions of his dress and bearing. He was dark, and his
large black eyes emitted an incessant gleam, wherein wit, mockery, fun,
and sometimes emotion and sentiment, shone in turn. An irreproachable
nose, a well-shaped mouth, supplied with teeth so white as to justify a
feeling of pride therein; an oval face, with thin black whiskers and a
small moustache connecting them;--such was young Albert Vermoncey; one
could not justly deny him the title of a comely youth.
On his left arm leaned a young man who was apparently some years older
than the fascinating Albert, but who was also one of the lions, or, if
you prefer, beaux, of the day. But his bearing lacked the grace wherein
lay his companion's charm. He was taller and stouter, but there was
stiffness in his gait, and affectation in the way he carried his head on
one side, and in the way he wore his hat over his ear. The difference in
the faces of the two was even more marked; taken separately, the
features of this second member of the party were not bad, but the whole
effect was far from pleasant. The color of his eyes was uncertain; and
then, too, he kept the lids lowered, and rarely looked at the person
with whom he was talking. Lastly, his face commonly wore a sarcastic
expression, which was sometimes insulting; one would have said that he
was always inclined to pick a quarrel with someone. This young man's
name was Célestin de Valnoir.
The individual who walked at Albert's right, but not on his arm, was of
about his age, but much shorter, and possessed of a very pronounced
embonpoint. His hair, which had a reddish tinge, curled naturally and
fell in abundance on each side of his face, which was round and fresh
and rosy, but a little too fat. He had attractive features: eyes almost
round, but of a very clear blue; a small aquiline nose, which seemed to
point to an Israelitish origin; red lips and very handsome teeth, and a
dimple in the middle of his chin. All these combined to make a very
attractive, chubby angel's face, which lacked character only, for its
expression very rarely varied; it was that of a person who is overjoyed
to be in the world. It required some very serious cause to banish his
stereotyped smile; but it disappeared when he thought that he had lost
his handkerchief or a piece of money. At such times an extraordinary
revolution took place in his features: his nose increased in size, his
mouth contracted, his eyes seemed to be on the point of starting from
their orbits; in fact, he became so ugly that he was almost
unrecognizable.
This third idler was dressed with more pretension than taste; he had a
huge scarfpin, with a cameo; a heavy hair chain, which he wore about his
neck, fell over his waistcoat and held a little square monocle, which he
put in his right eye from time to time. Add to these a very fine Malacca
joint, with an enormous gold or gilt head, which he often held by the
middle and twirled in the air, and you have a fair portrait of Tobie
Pigeonnier. His baptismal name often led people to think that he was
born in the Jewish religion; but whenever he was questioned on the
subject, he seemed to take offence at the suggestion that he was a
descendant of Jacob.
Let us listen to the conversation of these young gentlemen; that is the
best way of making acquaintance with people.
Albert Vermoncey was telling his two friends an anecdote which seemed to
amuse them mightily:
"Yes, messieurs; it was at Madame Baldimer's last reception. You know
whom I mean? that American who has made such a sensation in Paris,
because she is very beautiful, very bright, and very original."
"And who is supposed to be very rich," said Célestin.
"Well, isn't she?" queried Tobie Pigeonnier, rubbing his nose with the
head of his cane.
"Why, people are beginning to doubt it; she gives very few big dinners
now."
"If she gives many small ones, that amounts to the same thing."
"What a stupid creature you are, Tobie! Pray let me finish my story.
Madame Plays was there with her husband. Good God! what a husband! he
ought to serve as a model for them all."
"Because his wife has given him a pair of horns that wouldn't pass under
Porte Saint-Denis?"
"Oho!" said Tobie, laughing uproariously; "do you mean to say that poor
Monsieur Plays is a stag?"
"I say, Célestin, to think that Tobie didn't know that! Where have you
been, my dear fellow--to the Marquesas Islands? to the kingdom of
Lahore?"
"As if Tobie knew anything! When a man has passed his youth on Rue
Beaubourg, he is bound to be far behind the times."
"Oh! I have lived on Rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins more than three years
now."
"Look, messieurs! see this coming toward us, with the little lilac hat
and the pink dress. I rather like the looks of it. Here's a chance to
shoot off your monocle, Tobie; especially as the wind makes the lady's
dress cling close to her thighs, and we are going before the wind."
"She isn't pretty," said Célestin, as the person with the lilac hat
passed them.
"Gad! Célestin, you shouted that in her ears; I'll bet that she heard
you."
"Well, suppose she did? aren't opinions free? I say, Tobie; speaking of
Rue Beaubourg, I thought that nobody but Jews lived there."
"That's a fable, you see, as I lived there."
"That's no reason. You may be of that religion yourself."
"I have told you many times that I am a Lutheran, of Polish descent. I
don't know why you insist on calling me a Jew."
"Well, suppose you were a Jew," said Albert; "what harm would it do you?
Aren't there men of merit, men of genius, in all religions? and in
respect to the arts, fortune, and talents, the Jewish nation is one of
the most richly endowed at this moment. We are not living in the
barbarous times when the people loved of God were so badly treated, when
the children of Israel were compelled to wear a distinguishing mark on
their clothes and their hats."
"It was a yellow mark," said Célestin, with a sneer.
"Yes; and now that color has become so fashionable that a yellow mark
would not be distinctive at all. Ah! there's a young actress from the
Variétés. Whom is she with to-day?"
"With an Englishman who is in a fair way to ruin himself for her. It
won't take long; she makes her adorers strike a fast pace."
"She is right; she is the fashion now, and she is making the most of it.
It doesn't last long in Paris."
"But it seems to me that I could mention several ladies of her stamp who
have been the fashion for fifteen years at least. What a pile of money
they have fricasseed, eh?"
"Do you know, I like the word _fricasseed_; it's a fact that they spend
it with all sorts of sauce."
"If only they had the sense to put some of it by; then they wouldn't be
obliged to end as box openers, after cutting a brilliant figure on the
stage."
"Put money by! that's a reflection quite worthy of Tobie! What I can't
understand is, how he ever made up his mind to buy such a big pin, with
a cameo. How much did your cameo cost, Tobie? and your cane must have
cost a lot, too. Damnation! what a swell! he denies himself nothing!"
"True," said Célestin; "but it would be well to know if it's all real
gold."
Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier blushed to the end of his nose; but he
affected to laugh heartily, and replied:
"Ah! Monsieur de Valnoir, how unkind of you! When you find me wearing
anything that isn't of the first quality, you will be very sharp. I care
for nothing, of any sort, that is not really choice. It's the same with
my linen--I must always have the very finest. The shirt I am wearing
cost me seventy-five francs."
"Have you many dozens of that sort?"
"Why, yes; I like to have a lot of linen; I was brought up to that
habit. My mother had five or six large wardrobes filled with sheets--all
fine Holland. When I go into partnership with my aunt, I shall deny
myself nothing; I shall have only the finest damask on my table----"
"Have you an aunt in business?"
"Yes; she sells all sorts of goods on commission. It's a big
establishment: twelve clerks and eight travelling men. She promised long
ago to put me at the head of it; and if it hadn't been for some
escapades of mine, she'd have done it before now."
Célestin began to whistle between his teeth, and Albert, who had not
been listening to Tobie for several minutes, suddenly exclaimed:
"Isn't that Madame Baldimer in that little _citadine_?"
Albert's two companions thereupon looked into the street, and Célestin,
after glancing at a carriage which was passing, replied:
"Yes, that is she."
"Was she alone?"
"I think not; I thought that I caught a glimpse of a moustache beside
her face."
Albert's face became clouded; he looked after the _citadine_, which was
already some distance away, then stopped and seemed to hesitate as to
what he should do next.
"Well! what's the matter with you?" said Célestin, looking at his friend
as if he would have liked to read his inmost thoughts; "do you think of
following that carriage?"
Albert tried to smile, as he replied:
"The fact is that I am curious to know---- This Madame Baldimer is a
great flirt, but she has no lover, so far as anyone knows; she allows
everybody to pay court to her, and seems inclined to make sport of her
adorers."
"Why is anyone foolish enough to pay court to her?"
"Why, because she is lovely."
"There's no lack of lovely women in Paris."
"Nor in the suburbs," said Tobie. "I knew one at Nanterre. Such a love
of a woman!"
"Did she sell cakes?"
"Ah! you joker! cakes! She was a woman of very high position."
"Did she live on a hill?"
"She had a villa, monsieur, a magnificent villa."
"At Nanterre? That is strange; I never happened to see any fine houses
there."
"It wasn't just at Nanterre, but in the neighborhood."
Albert Vermoncey was lost in thought; he walked very slowly, and turned
his head from time to time to see if he could still see the carriage.
Monsieur Célestin, who, without seeming to do so, closely watched his
companion's movements, said, after a moment, dwelling significantly upon
his words:
"A carriage is a very convenient thing, especially in Paris, where you
can always be certain of finding one with blinds. If you have a secret
errand to do, if you don't know where to meet your lover for a little
chat--why, you step into a _citadine_, you join the person in question
at the appointed place, she enters with you, you close the windows and
lower the blinds; and then--go where you choose, driver, you are hired
by the hour!--Drive through the most crowded streets of Paris, pass as
close as you please to a husband, or a rival--he will see nothing.
Sometimes, indeed, he will be the first to smile when he sees a
hermetically closed carriage, and will say: 'That probably conceals some
intrigue.'--Oh, yes! a carriage is a great convenience, I say again."
"It is, and it is not," said young Tobie, affecting a cunning
expression; "because---- Still, if all the streets in Paris were paved
with wood, it would be all right."
"Madame Baldimer did not hide," said Albert; "the blinds of her carriage
were not lowered."
"Perhaps they are now," murmured Célestin.
Albert clenched his hands as if he had had a spasm of pain.
"I say, my dear Albert," said Tobie, after trying, but in vain, to fix
his little glass in his right eye, "are you in love with this Madame
Baldimer, that you seem inclined to follow her carriage?"
"I, in love with her? upon my word! Do you suppose that I am idiotic
enough to fall in love with a woman again? I love them when they are
pretty; but it lasts just so long as is necessary to triumph over them;
that is quite enough. Mon Dieu! that is the best way to succeed with
women. But if you really love them, you become melancholy, jealous, a
bore to your friends; and your fair one no longer listens to you, and,
what is worse, deceives you. Madame Baldimer is very beautiful; I have
been attentive to her, as to many others."
"Yes," rejoined Tobie, sucking the gold head of his cane; "that is our
business, to pay court to the ladies. Ah! if I should write my
adventures--I had an idea of doing it once; but it would have taken too
long; I hadn't the time, and the current forced me along."
"Did Madame Baldimer listen to you favorably?" asked Célestin, with a
satirical glance at his friend.
"Why, not less so than to others. I have already told you that she plays
the coquette with everybody and listens to no one."
"I should say that the gentleman who was with her in the _citadine_ just
now might think differently."
Albert frowned and tapped his boot with his switch, as he replied:
"You say that there was a man with her; I saw no one."
"Because your sight is not good, apparently."
"Ah! there's Désilly, the illustrious Désilly."
Two young men who were just passing our three idlers stopped in front of
them. One of the two, who wore a broad-brimmed hat with a pointed crown,
and had a beard a sapper might have envied, shook hands with Albert and
Célestin in turn, saying:
"How are you, boys! we are out for a stroll. I tell you, this is
something like! Who will give me a cigar? I've just finished mine."
Albert took from his pocket a dainty cigar case of Italian straw, and
offered it to the two new-comers, each of whom took a cigar and lighted
it from Albert's and Célestin's; meanwhile, Tobie whispered in Albert's
ear:
"Is that the artist Désilly, who draws such amusing, clever caricatures
in the paper?"
"Himself."
"Désilly," said Célestin, "you promised to show me the collection of
your latest caricatures, which I want to send to Bordeaux. When would
you like me to come?"
"My boys, don't ask me anything at this moment; I have a love affair on
hand, and it is impossible for me to think of anything else. It may last
a week, perhaps two, but it surely won't go over a month; then I shall
be at your service. Adieu!"
And the artist went off with his friend.
"He has a love affair on hand," said Monsieur Tobie; "and it seems to
engage his attention to the exclusion of everything else."
"Yes; but he knows the measure of his sentiments, and he never makes a
mistake. He is wiser than those men who when they are attacked by a new
passion imagine that it will last forever!"
"Do they think that, nowadays?" said Tobie, toying carelessly with his
hair chain. "By the way, Albert hasn't finished his story of Madame
Plays, whose husband is a second Acteon. I demand the rest of the story,
or my money back."
"Yes, yes, the rest of the story," said Célestin.
Albert resumed his narrative, but with much less animation, and as if he
were doing it solely to oblige.
"Well, messieurs; Madame Plays was at Madame Baldimer's dance. The
company was slightly mixed, as you can understand. A foreigner who has
lived in Paris only a year cannot know very many people; and when she
chooses to give receptions and balls, she must necessarily accept with
confidence such guests as are presented to her; and her confidence is
often misplaced."
"Sapristi! you are as verbose as a lawyer to-day, Albert."
"Madame Plays was superb; she is somewhat massive, as you know, but a
very beautiful woman. Tall Saint-Clair, who was there, did not lose
sight of her, and made eyes at her--Gad! it was enough to make one burst
with laughter. Madame Plays responded, for lack of something better to
do. She is a woman who must always have occupation. All of a sudden, it
came into my head to rob that idiotic Saint-Clair of his conquest. I had
never before given a thought to Madame Plays, although I had frequently
met her in society. I had no sooner conceived the project, than I set to
work. Supper had just been served; I seated myself beside the emotional
Herminie--that is her name--and overwhelmed her with little attentions,
interspersed with tender words. Ah! if you knew what success I had! it
went so quickly that I was almost frightened. She went so far as to tell
me that I had done very wrong not to declare myself sooner."
"Peste! the lady regretted the time she had lost. And Saint-Clair?"
"Oh! he was in an extraordinary state: as he was unable to obtain a seat
beside his passion, he stood behind her at first; then, when he found
that she didn't answer him, or pay any attention to him, he went off in
a rage and sat at the other end of the table, where he began to eat and
drink with a sort of frenzy; indeed, I think that he ended by getting a
little tipsy, for, when we returned to the salon to dance, he was
sitting in a corner, beside Monsieur Plays, and some people declared
that he wept while he was talking with him. I should not be at all
surprised if he had confided to him his chagrin at having failed to make
him a cuckold."
"That would be charming. But the husband replied, no doubt: 'Never fear,
my friend; somebody else will.'"
"I invited my conquest to dance. What a hussy she is! In the first
place, she didn't spare the madeira and the champagne; but she's not
like Saint-Clair, they didn't make her feel inclined to cry; on the
contrary, she danced with such vigor, such enthusiasm! it was impossible
to stop her. As we were all decidedly gay, somebody proposed dancing the
cancan--the real thing. The superb Herminie dances it as well as a
grisette from La Chaumière, and much more boldly than the lorettes at
the Bal Saint-Georges. Gad! you ought to have seen us! We were truly
admirable. The other women in the quadrille soon gave up their places,
but Madame Plays kept on, with myself and six other men, three of whom
danced as women. There was a great ring around us. Upon my word, it was
a curious sight. I fancied that I heard somebody whisper that my partner
had imbibed too much madeira and champagne, but I believe her to be
quite capable of doing anything under heaven without the aid of liquor."
"And Madame Baldimer?"
"She didn't dance, but she laughed heartily."
"There is no need of asking you if that intrigue came to a successful
end?"
"Oh! it was so easy. I assure you that conquests like that are not at
all interesting, and there is so little difficulty about them that they
do not even flatter our vanity. That happened a fortnight ago, and my
only desire now is to rid myself of the passionate Herminie. Mon Dieu!
that reminds me that I have an appointment with her for this evening.
Messieurs, which of you would like to go in my place? I will turn over
my conquest to him, with all my heart."
"Thanks," said Célestin, blowing a mouthful of smoke into the face of an
old woman who was passing; "Madame Plays doesn't tempt me. She is too
heavy for me."
"Why, I should say that you were strong enough to carry her," said
Pigeonnier; "you have the build of an athlete, a gladiator. I am sure
that you could easily carry a bag of flour that weighs three hundred and
twenty-five."
"And because you suppose that I can carry a bag of flour, you suggest
that I become Madame Plays's lover! The comparison is most flattering to
the lady! What brilliant ideas that devil of a Tobie has!"
II
THE FLOWER GIRL
At that moment a young woman, with her head enveloped in a silk
handkerchief, from beneath which long locks of chestnut hair emerged and
hung in corkscrew curls on both sides of her face, approached the young
men and accosted them with rather a brazen-faced air, thrusting divers
bunches of violets almost into their faces.
"Messieurs, buy a bouquet of me, be the first to buy; you'll bring me
luck."
"Aha! it's Bastringuette," said Albert, smiling at the girl, whose pale,
thin face, eyes circled with black, and hoarse voice, suggested a very
fatiguing profession.
"Come, buy of me; you always have some lady to give flowers to! you're a
good customer!"
"You strike me at a bad time, my poor girl; my love affairs are too
prosperous at this moment, I don't need to be gallant."
"I say, Bastringuette, what sort of business are you doing, that you
have those black rings round your eyes, and look so fagged out?" said
Monsieur Célestin, taking the flower girl by the chin. She had large
brown eyes surmounted by heavy eyebrows, a large but well-shaped mouth,
and would still have been a seductive person had she but a little
fresher color and a less brazen expression.
"I do what I want! What odds is it to you who never buy anything of me?"
"Because I don't need to give bouquets to gain my ends, it is fair to
suppose."
"Come, take away your paws! I don't wear anything false, I don't need to
be felt of!--And you, my little love, won't you buy something of me?
With such a face and style, you ought to have mistresses on every
street, and even on the boulevards!"
This complimentary speech was addressed to Tobie Pigeonnier; he seemed
to be exceedingly flattered by it, and, to manifest his satisfaction,
rested his nose on each bunch of violets on her tray in turn, saying:
"She's very amusing, very clever, this flower girl! She has a pair of
eyes--what pistols! how she fires 'em at you point-blank!"
"Well, my dear boy, are you going to confine yourself to putting your
nose on all the bouquets? Thanks! You may sprinkle 'em, but that's not
the kind of dampness that keeps 'em fresh. Come, buy this bunch!"
"No, I have no victims to sacrifice to-day; unless you would like to be
one--eh, hussy?"
"Stop that! You're too puffy for me! I don't like wax figures; I should
be afraid you'd melt in my arms!"
Albert and Célestin roared with laughter at the wry face which Tobie
made when he received this compliment from the flower girl. Having tried
once more to place his glass in his right eye, he cast a disdainful
glance at Mademoiselle Bastringuette, saying:
"You are like your flowers, my dear; when one looks at you too close, he
sees that he would be cheated."
"_Dame!_ that's not like you! one has only to glance at you to be
satisfied that he gets nothing for his money."
Tobie's two friends laughed louder than ever; and he concluded to try to
laugh with them, saying:
"The devil! we're dealing with a good fighter! I fancy I shall not have
the last word with her."
"Not the last word nor anything else, my little fat man. _Dame!_ all the
pleasure we poor girls have is with our tongue! We must make the most of
it, for it don't cost anything."
"Take care! The tongue is the best and the worst part of us. Æsop said
that."
"I don't know the gentleman; but mine seems to be a good one, for it
don't wear out at all. It ain't like your waistcoat; see, monsieur, it's
giving out under the arms!"
And Mademoiselle Bastringuette, whose eyes detected the most carefully
hidden secrets of a man's toilet, pointed out to Tobie's friends a place
in his silk waistcoat, which, although it was almost hidden by his coat,
she had discovered. There was a rent large enough to show the sleeve of
his shirt, which was of a coarse and yellow linen vastly different from
that of the front.
The stout young man made haste to button his coat.
"I must have torn it when I put it on," he said. "My tailor always makes
the armholes too small! and then, _crac!_ an accident."
"Oh! no, monsieur; that wasn't an accident! it's pretty well worn out on
that side. See, it's like my dress! There's some attic windows for you!"
As she spoke, Mademoiselle Bastringuette lifted her arms and showed two
great holes in her dress, under her armpits.
"I hope you'll believe that I've got another one to put on, though," she
continued, with a smile. "Bah! what do I care! it won't hinder my
selling my violets! And even if someone does see my skin! There's no
harm done, after all. I haven't got a turkey's skin, like lots of women
that have fine dresses and a dirty lining."
"She's very original; indeed, she's quite--original, is this girl," said
Tobie, who was very glad that she had ceased to talk about his
waistcoat; "she amuses me mightily."
"Why," said Albert, "didn't you know her before?"
"This is the first time I ever saw her."
"For a man who has lived in the Chaussée d'Antin for three years, that
is very surprising. Everybody about here knows Bastringuette, the flower
girl who sells violets on Boulevard des Italiens."
"I seldom buy flowers; their odor makes me ill."
"Yes, I sell violets when there are any," said Bastringuette; "but when
they're all gone, I sell other things--oranges, nuts, green peas,
lettuce. There's always something to sell, at all seasons, and that's
why they call us _marchandes des quatre saisons_."
"It seems to me that your lover doesn't keep you very handsomely,"
observed Célestin, with a mocking glance at the girl.
"My lover! _dame!_ I don't know how he does it, but he never has a sou;
and he's little better off for clothes than I am; luckily, love don't
need a new coat to keep warm."
"Are you still with Sans-Cravate?" asked Albert, taking the largest
bunch of violets on the girl's tray.
"To be sure. Oh! we poor girls aren't like the great ladies; we don't
change our bill of fare every day."
"What! is that ne'er-do-well of a Sans-Cravate your lover?" said
Célestin. "I don't congratulate you, my poor Bastringuette! The fellow
often beats you, I suppose, doesn't he?"
"Beat me!" cried the girl, contracting her heavy eyebrows. "When a man
beats me, it will be because I have no teeth left to eat his eyes out,
and no nails to tear his nose. You think that a man beats his mistress,
just because he's a messenger! Oh, yes! that's all very nice, but it
ain't our style. We ain't brutes, just because we belong to the common
people. It's much more likely to be you who amuse yourself striking
women! The men who wear jackets ain't always the meanest curs. There are
some vile hearts under fine coats."
Monsieur Célestin de Valnoir seemed far from pleased by this apostrophe;
he bit his lip, and there was something very like a threat in the look
he gave the girl; but she sustained it without the slightest evidence of
emotion.
Tobie, enchanted to find that she paid no further attention to him, and
that somebody else was now the object of her sarcasms, twirled his cane
like a drum-major, and laughed aloud, swaying from side to side as if he
were on a tight-rope.
"And then," continued Bastringuette, rearranging her bouquets, "why
should you say that Sans-Cravate is a ne'er-do-well? What has he ever
done to be called that? because he's a bit noisy and quick-tempered and
quarrelsome? because he gets a little tight, now and then? A great
crime, that! That's what you call doing wrong! A man works, then enjoys
himself--is that any more than fair? And all the fine things he's
done--no one ever speaks of them, because he don't crow about 'em
himself!"
"Oho! so Monsieur Sans-Cravate does fine things, does he?" sneered
Célestin. "I've never read of any of them in the newspapers."
"The newspapers! they're great authority! Run by people who lie from New
Year's Day to Saint-Sylvestre, and make up a lot of stories without any
head or tail, that would drive you crazy if you believed 'em all.
That's what happened to my poor mother. She didn't know any better than
to stuff her head full of what a lot of papers said. She read 'em in the
concierge's room, at all the neighbors', and at the grocer's, and she
used to say to us every day: 'Things are going wrong, children; the
people are very discontented; there'll be an upset before long, for a
body won't be able to sneeze without having to pay a tax to the
government, and that will make it very expensive for people with colds
in their heads. Bread will go to thirty sous a loaf, and we shan't be
able to go out next winter without being murdered, and perhaps
worse.'--'Well, then, mother,' I'd say, 'we'll just stay in the house,
and eat potatoes if we can't get bread.'--But all that stuff turned her
brain, I tell you; she died in six months; and the doctor himself said:
'Your mother died of indigestion caused by _canards_ [ducks],' and the
nonsense they stuff the newspapers with is canards. But here I am
chattering like a magpie, and that don't sell my flowers."
"Here," said Albert, handing the girl a five-franc piece, "this is for
the bunch of violets, which I will keep; for it wouldn't be fair to have
made you talk all this time for nothing."
"Ah! thanks, my little darling! you're a nice boy, you are; that makes
up for some of those who ain't!"
And Bastringuette went her way along the boulevard, crying:
"Buy flowers, messieurs and mesdames! buy some pretty violets! The
spring has come; buy flowers for your ladies!"
"She's no fool," said Albert, looking after her as she walked away; "she
is very amusing, and quick at repartee."
"That is to say," rejoined Célestin, "she is one of those people who say
whatever comes into their head; and as there may happen to be an
occasional witty remark in the midst of a mass of nonsense, it's the
fashion to say that such people are very bright. That girl is
exceedingly impertinent, and that's the extent of her wit, in my
opinion."
"Messieurs," said Albert, "our meeting with Bastringuette interrupted
our conversation, which was very interesting, however. We were speaking
of Madame Plays, and I proposed to turn over to one of you my
appointment for this evening. Are there no takers?"
"Do you make that proposition seriously?" said young Tobie Pigeonnier,
patting the gold head of his cane.
"Most seriously, I assure you! I have never been in love with Madame
Plays; I paid court to her, purely as a joke, to play a trick on
Saint-Clair; but my one desire now is to break with my fair conquest."
"Really, Madame Plays is very attractive!" rejoined Monsieur Tobie,
throwing away the end of his cigar; "she's a very fine woman, her face
is extremely pretty; and then, you see, I have a penchant for plump
women."
"In that case, you would be served to your taste," said Célestin.
"But to take your place at a rendezvous; how the devil can that be
arranged?"
"Nothing easier," said Albert. "I am to be at the flower market on
Boulevard de la Madeleine--near the church, you know--at half-past eight
this evening."
"I know the place very well; I often walk there on market days. Some
very distinguished women come there--women in carriages; I have noticed
that the flowers were only a pretext, and that they came there for other
things than orange blossoms and camellias."
"Very good; Madame Plays will be there. I will give you a little note
for her, in which I will say that some unexpected business may detain me
a little while, but that I send her one of my friends, whose discretion
is unquestionable, and who will escort her to a place where I will join
her as soon as I possibly can. With that note, you will go to the
rendezvous in my place, you will hand the note to Madame Plays, and take
her where you choose, pretending that it is a place selected by me, and
that you are to stay with her, for company, until I come. I fail to
appear, the lady is furious with me, and you console her. Faith! it
seems to me that that will go of itself."
"It's an intrigue all cut and dried for you," said Célestin.
Tobie shook his head; the scheme evidently pleased him, but he seemed to
feel that it required reflection.
"Do you think Madame Plays will accept my escort?" he asked; "won't she
be angry when she sees that you have let me into the secret of your
intrigue with her?"
"Don't be alarmed, my dear Tobie; I know the person I am sending you to;
of course, I wouldn't do this with all women; but I know Madame Plays;
she's a jade who snaps her fingers at what people may say, and is proud
of her conquests. The fair Herminie is almost a man in petticoats."
"The devil! I hope that that is true only with respect to her moral
qualities."
"Never fear; physically, she is superbly feminine. Her husband pays no
sort of heed to what she does. Indeed, she leads him by the nose. If she
should tell him that the obelisk of Luxor had made her a mother, he
would believe it, or would pretend to; if she takes a fancy to you, the
affair is done."
"Oh! in that case, I have some chance of success. I accept; faith! yes,
I accept; I will try the experiment; he who sows, reaps. Sapristi! no
one can deny that we are sad rakes; I have several mistresses already,
but the fair Plays tempts me."
"I give you my word that she is a very agreeable woman--pretty face,
well built, solid as a rock! in short, everything that can tempt an
amateur. If I had nothing else in my head just now, I would not have
left her so quickly.--So it's a bargain. Now, I must give you the note
you are to hand her. It is exactly like giving a letter of
recommendation."
Little Tobie was enchanted; he laughed aloud, he walked with a swagger,
and twirled his cane; in the extravagance of his delight, he seemed
disposed to leap and turn somersaults on the boulevard; so that Célestin
said to him:
"I say, young Pigeonnier, just calm down a bit; anyone would think, to
see your insane joy, that you had never had a love affair."
"Oho! I have no lack of them, I assure you; I have my choice every day;
but this will be such an amusing experience! Ha! ha! ha! to take another
man's place! ha! ha! it is delicious!"
"There is nothing commoner than that; it's an old opéra-comique idea.
Now, messieurs, I propose that we dine together. We have begun the day
well, we must finish it as well. We will dine at the Maison-Dorée.
Mouillot and Balivan will dine with us; they are two good fellows, as
you know, and we shall find them at the Passage des Panoramas at
half-past five; I have an appointment with them. Tobie does not meet his
charmer until eight; so that he will have plenty of time to dine. Then
we will have a little game of bouillotte at the restaurant, and Tobie
will come back and tell us the result of his adventure."
"Good! I agree!" cried Albert; "especially as I have had hard luck
lately at bouillotte. That Mouillot is a lucky devil; he always wins,
and he owes me a terrible revenge.--Well, Tobie, doesn't the plan suit
you? You often say: 'We must dine together, and have a little spree;'
but when we try to fix a day, you never can. Here is a good chance, it
seems to me. My dear fellow, if you want to succeed with Madame Plays, I
warn you that you must act a little cavalierly."
Tobie seemed to hesitate for a moment, but at last he struck the ground
with his cane and cried:
"Well, I accept! yes, let us dine together, and make the day complete!
feasting! cards! women! that's my idea of life! Ah! what libertines we
are!"
"Now, messieurs," said Albert, "we will step into the café on Passage de
l'Opéra, and I will write the note for Madame Plays; and I have another
letter to write and send off before dinner."
"And so have I," said Célestin.
"And I," said Tobie; "I have an important errand to be done."
"Let us go, then."
The three young men entered the café at the corner of the boulevard and
the Passage de l'Opéra, and ordered writing materials, together with
three glasses of madeira. Each of the three wrote very busily. Albert
let his pen run over the paper, but it seemed not to travel fast enough
to express the thoughts which thronged the mind of him who guided it.
Monsieur Célestin de Valnoir wrote more slowly, but, from the expression
of his face, it was evident that he was carefully considering his
words. As for Tobie Pigeonnier, he wrote the least rapidly of the three,
either because his ideas did not come readily, or because his subject
was a difficult one to treat; he scratched his forehead, looked up at
the ceiling, wrote two words, stopped, ran his hand through his hair,
and began again; his letter caused him much toil, but he did not confine
himself to a single one; after sealing the first, he at once began
another. Albert and Célestin, who had finished theirs long before, said
to him:
"Well, Pigeonnier, how many letters are you writing? will this be a long
one?"
"One moment, messieurs; let me finish this one, I beg; it is very
important. You see, in order to dine with you, I have to miss two most
seductive appointments. The poor little women! they will be in despair,
but, at all events, I shall not keep them waiting for me in the cold.
Just a word of love, and I shall have finished."
"Parbleu! that's not hard to find. Put _yours for life_, and let it go
at that."
"That is too common; I am going to write something different."
Monsieur Tobie finished his correspondence at last. Albert paid the
waiter, and the three young men rose and left the café.
"The next thing is to send my letters," said Tobie.
"Oh! I have my regular messenger--Sans-Cravate," said Albert; "he is
always at the corner of Rue du Helder, close by; let us go there."
"For my part," said Célestin, "I employ his comrade, Jean Ficelle; he's
a very intelligent fellow. There's a third one, whose name is Paul, I
think, who stands with them; he will do Tobie's errand."
"All right, messieurs," said Pigeonnier. "Let us go and find our
messengers. By the way--how about my letter for the fair Herminie?"
"Faith! I forgot to write it; but we have time enough, I'll write it at
the restaurant; we must hurry, it's five o'clock now."
III
THE MESSENGERS
On Rue du Helder, near the boulevard, in front of a handsome house,
three street messengers had their regular stand.
On the afternoon of which we are writing, all three were at their post.
One lay at full length on his _crochets_, which he had placed on the
ground, horizontally, in such wise as to form a sort of cot-bed; it was
rather narrow, but its occupant had become so accustomed to it that he
had no difficulty in maintaining his place, and never fell over the
side.
Another was sitting on a stone bench against the house. He was smoking a
pipe, and had in his hands a disgustingly greasy and dirty pack of
cards, with which he was apparently practising the false cut and divers
other tricks of that sort.
The third messenger was on his feet, leaning against the wall, with his
eyes fixed on the topmost floor of a high building almost opposite.
The man lying on the _crochets_ seemed to be in the prime of life; he
was of medium height, but the breadth of his shoulders and the size of
the muscles in his sinewy limbs pointed him out as a man with whom it
would be dangerous to quarrel. His face was frank and good-humored; his
small, light blue eyes expressed recklessness and merriment; his nose
was rather large, and sometimes red at the end; his full lips denoted a
kindly and obliging disposition; and his abundant light hair, which blew
about at the pleasure of the wind, surmounted a high forehead, wherein
the brain must have had ample room to exercise its faculties.
He was dressed like most messengers,--a jacket and loose trousers; but
he wore no neckerchief; his shirt, fastened by a button, disclosed a
neck much whiter than one would have supposed from the color of his
hands and face. The invariable habit of wearing nothing about his neck
at any season of the year, even when the cold was most severe, was
responsible for the sobriquet of _Sans-Cravate_, which had come to be
the only name by which the messenger was known to the persons who
employed him, and even to most of his friends.
The person seated on the stone bench, who seemed intent upon his cards,
was short, and heavily pock-marked; his hair was dark brown and very
thick, and hung low over a narrow forehead; the man's face indicated
intelligence and cunning, and the evil expression of his gray eyes
seemed to forbid the judgment we are accustomed to form of a person with
a low forehead. A small nose, much too retroussé, tightly closed lips,
and a protruding chin, made of Monsieur Jean Ficelle a decidedly ugly
individual, and one who would by no means inspire the confidence which
we like to feel in a messenger, unless his unusual mobility of feature
were successful in deceiving those who tried to read his thoughts.
The third messenger, who stood against the wall, with his eyes
constantly fixed on the attics of the opposite house, was a tall,
slender young man of graceful figure; although he also wore loose
trousers and a jacket, there was in his bearing an indefinable
something, which, while perhaps it could not be called refinement,
distinguished it from the vulgar slouchiness of his companions; and as,
generally speaking, a person's face almost always fulfils the promise of
his bearing, so this young man, whose features were regular and
attractive, had not the usual expression of those of his calling. A
high, well-shaped forehead; beautiful black hair, brushed aside with a
lack of coquetry that was not without charm; brown eyes, with a tender
and melancholy expression; a mouth of an ordinary type, supplied with
handsome teeth; an oval face, almost always pale, but indicative of a
delicate constitution rather than of ill health--such was that one of
the three messengers who was known as Paul, and who, in truth, seemed
but ill adapted for his trade.
"If Bastringuette hasn't sold her violets, I shall have a chance to sup
in my mind's eye to-day. Business is dull, but the appetite keeps right
along. _Crédié!_ what a lot of rooms there are to let in my belly! and
unfurnished lodgings in my stomach! How the devil am I to furnish it
all?
"'Dip your bread, Marie, dip your bread,
Dip your bread in clear water!'
We'll sing that song for our supper, and we shan't be troubled with
indigestion. But Bastringuette don't like that tune--nor do I, for that
matter."
It was Sans-Cravate who made these reflections aloud, as he turned over
on his _crochets_. After a moment's silence, he continued:
"If a fellow hadn't his cutty to comfort him when his pocket's empty,
how he would curse his destiny! Bah! what's the odds! Am I going to have
an attack of the dismals? am I going to join the ranks of the
snivellers? Never! It don't bring in a sou to be sad; and then, as
another song says, which I like much better:
"'Courage! courage!
One's friends are always by!'
"Isn't that so, boys? Well! don't all answer at once; I shouldn't know
you if you did."
As he spoke, Sans-Cravate turned and looked at his comrades. He shrugged
his shoulders when he saw Jean Ficelle playing with his cards, and
muttered:
"The deuce! there's Jean Ficelle practising his tricks! Cards are his
vocation. But damn me if I ever play piquet with you again! Infernal
Ficelle![A] you are too well named."
The person addressed paid no attention, he was so engrossed by his
cards. Thereupon Sans-Cravate turned to Paul and said, with a smile: