Mouillot; "that reminds me of an experience I had with a blockhead of a
messenger. My mistress at that time was a very attractive woman, an
amiable little creature of about twenty-two, who seemed barely eighteen.
She was married, and an old aunt of her husband lived with her and was
supposed to keep an eye on her, because they knew she was a little
giddy. So that we had to act cautiously. My charmer had asked me to send
her a bouquet, because she was going to a ball, to which I also was
going. During the day, I bought a lovely bouquet at Mademoiselle
Prévot's, then took a cab, and told the driver to take me to the
faubourg where my mistress lived. I got out at the corner of a street,
two or three hundred yards from her house, and looked about for a
messenger. At last I spied one; he was a man fifty years old or more,
very dirty, and with the general aspect of a drunkard, but still the
probabilities were that he knew his business. I beckoned to him and led
him into a doorway. He tried to look cunning when he saw that he was to
carry a bouquet. I pointed out the house, and told him the number, then
said: 'There's no concierge; you must go to the rear of the courtyard,
where there is only one little door, at which you will ring. If the door
is opened by a man, or by an old woman, you will say simply: "Here's the
bouquet madame ordered of a flower girl, to be sent to her," and then
come away without another word; but if it's a young woman, then you will
say to her: "Here is the bouquet, madame; the gentleman who sent it is
at the corner of the street yonder," and listen carefully to what she
tells you to say to me. I will wait here for you. You understand! no
blundering!'--My messenger assumed his sly expression once more, and
replied: 'Never fear, monsieur; this isn't the first time I've carried a
bouquet.'--And off he went with mine. I followed him with my eyes. I
wasn't very easy in my mind, for the fellow looked so stupid that I was
afraid of some blunder. To begin with, I saw that he passed the house,
although I had pointed it out to him plainly enough; however, after
going beyond it, he turned back and found it; he went in, and I waited.
After several minutes, which seemed painfully long to me, my man came
back with a self-satisfied air.--'Well,' I said, 'to whom did you give
it?'--'Two children, nine or ten years old, opened the door, monsieur;
one was a little girl, and the other a boy. "My little friends," I says
to them; "here's a bouquet somebody gave me for your mother; will you go
and tell her?"'--'Great God!' I cried; 'did I tell you that the lady had
children? Well?'--'Then, monsieur, a lady came.'--'Young and
pretty?'--'Not bad-looking, monsieur, according to my ideas.'--'It must
have been the old woman, then; what did you say to her?'--'I says:
"Madame, here's a bouquet that the flower girl hopes you'll accept; it
will give her great pleasure."--"What flower girl?" says the lady. "I
haven't ordered any bouquet. Where is the flower girl's stand?"--"Faith!
madame, the young man didn't tell me; but it's paid for; my orders are
not to take any money."'--'The devil take you!' cried I, as I dismissed
him; 'I shall know you again, and I'll never send you to carry another
bouquet.'--And, as it turned out, that brute was the cause of a terrible
scene between my little lady and her husband, which led to a rupture
between us. Moral: good messengers are rare in Paris. They try to show
so much intelligence that, if you hand them an unaddressed letter, and
say: 'You are to take this letter,'--they begin by grabbing it and
running off; and you have to call them back to tell them where to carry
it."
"I have another charge to make, messieurs," said Célestin. "Monsieur
Tobie Pigeonnier is stuffing truffles into his pocket. I'm not surprised
that they disappear from his plate so fast."
"Mon Dieu! just because I've taken two or three.--Come, waiter! The
lobster--and the asparagus. Hot! hot!"
"At what time do you go to your rendezvous?" asked Balivan.
"Half-past eight."
"You have time enough."
"None too much; you see, I should like some dessert too."
"Oh! I see that you don't propose to abandon your share of anything."
"When a man has a good stomach, he ought to make use of it. If you play
bouillotte this evening, I'll come back and join you."
"If we play!" cried Mouillot; "I rather think so--eh, Albert?"
"Oh, yes! I want my revenge."
"Bouillotte to the death!" said Balivan, absent-mindedly eating
asparagus at the wrong end.
"And afterward, messieurs," said Dupétrain, "I will magnetize you all."
"Oh! he'll drive us mad with his nonsense! I say, Dupétrain, do you
magnetize your mistresses, when you have any?"
"Certainly; I put myself in communication with them at once."
"He communicates his magnetic fluid to them."
"And as they confess, in the somnambulistic state, that they deceive
him, that vexes him, and he goes off and puts others to sleep."
"Laugh as much as you please, messieurs!" rejoined Dupétrain, assuming a
solemn expression and resting his elbows on the table; "but if I should
tell you all the extraordinary things that have been disclosed to me by
the power of magnetism, you would shudder from head to foot."
"_Fichtre!_" exclaimed Tobie, returning to the lobster. "Faith! they
give you a good dinner here.--Is this story of yours very interesting?"
"Well, well!" said Albert; "here's Tobie burning with the desire to
shudder from head to foot!"
"I'll tell you a single incident," replied Dupétrain, delighted to find
that Tobie paid some attention to what he said.--"A young woman, whose
husband was travelling----"
At that moment, the waiter opened the door of the salon and said:
"A messenger is here, asking for Monsieur Célestin de Valnoir."
"Very well," said Célestin, rising; "I'll go and speak to him."
He left the room and found Jean Ficelle waiting on the landing; he
beckoned to the messenger, who said in an undertone:
"First of all, my comrade Sans-Cravate went to the same house that I
did. I let him go first, as you told me; then I waited till he came out,
before I went in."
"Very good. And he didn't see you?"
"It was impossible. The lady wasn't in, but I found the maid, Mamzelle
Rosa, who told me where her mistress was--on Rue d'Angoulême, Boulevard
du Temple, calling on one of her friends. I went there and found her,
and gave her your letter. She read it, and then gave me this answer for
monsieur."
With that, Jean Ficelle handed Célestin a letter. He tore it open,
hurried to a gas jet to read it, and seemed satisfied with its
contents. Having put it in his pocket, he took out a two-franc piece and
handed it to the messenger, saying:
"Here, this is for you."
Jean Ficelle made a wry face as he took the coin, and muttered:
"Only that much for going to Rue Neuve-Vivienne, then to Rue
d'Angoulême, and coming back here; it ain't very fat pay."
"You rascal! I'll wager that the lady to whom you gave my letter paid
you, and paid you handsomely too; so that I really ought not to give you
anything."
"Monsieur is too shrewd," replied Jean Ficelle, with a half-smile;
"there's no way of being sharp with him."
"Off with you! keep your mouth shut, and I'll employ you again; when
you're paid at both ends, it seems to me that you ought to be
satisfied."
"He's a skinflint, all the same!" muttered the messenger, as he went
away.
Célestin returned to his friends.
"The reply is evidently satisfactory," said Mouillot, scrutinizing his
face. "His eyes have the proud gleam of a victor already. Is your
Dulcinea very pretty?"
"Oh! messieurs, it isn't what you imagine. It's important business."
"Are you going to marry?"
"No. It's some business on the Bourse. A little money to invest."
"Oho! if you're going to be a millionaire, then you can afford to lose
at bouillotte.--The champagne frappé, waiter. Now is the time!"
"Messieurs," said Dupétrain, with his elbows still on the table, "I was
about to tell you a very curious anecdote.--A young woman, whose
husband was travelling, desired to know whether, when he was away from
her----"
"Silence! No more stories! here comes the champagne!--Well, Albert, why
don't you drink? You are not in good spirits."
"Because my messenger doesn't come," replied the young dandy, with a
sigh which he extinguished in a glass of champagne.
"Nor mine, either," said Tobie; "but I don't care! he'll come in time.
Meanwhile, let us drink and laugh and sing! Champagne till we drop! They
treat you mighty well here."
"Yes, you seem to be getting along very well," said the artist, with a
smile.
"Spare yourself, Pigeonnier, my boy; or else you'll make a fiasco, in
spite of your letter of recommendation."
"I! why I could drink champagne all day without getting drunk; I am so
used to it!"
Again the waiter appeared, and said:
"There's a messenger for Monsieur Albert Vermoncey."
"Ah! it's for me this time!" exclaimed the young man, springing to his
feet. "I am coming! I am coming!"
In a second he had left the room and joined Sans-Cravate, who came to
meet him, holding three letters in one hand and a single one in the
other, and who said, almost without stopping for breath:
"I did just what monsieur told me: first, to the lady's house on Rue
Neuve-Vivienne. Not in; I left the letter. Then to monsieur's house, Rue
Caumartin. The concierge gave me these three letters. They smell good;
you'd think you had your nose on Bastringuette's tray. And then I went
back just now to Rue Neuve-Vivienne, and they gave me this letter for
monsieur. That smells good, too."
"A letter from her! Oh! give it to me, give it to me!"
"Here's all of them; first, the three the concierge gave me."
And Sans-Cravate handed Albert the letters he held in his left hand. But
the young man crumpled them up together and thrust them into his pocket;
then, hurriedly breaking the seal of the other one, which the messenger
had in his right hand, he stepped aside to read it unobserved, while
Sans-Cravate whistled a _cachucha_ between his teeth.
Albert had no sooner made himself acquainted with the contents of Madame
Baldimer's reply to his letter, than his face assumed an expression of
the most intense pleasure; he felt in his pocket and took out two
five-franc pieces, which he put in Sans-Cravate's hand, saying:
"Here, Sans-Cravate; I am happy, and I want you to be happy, too."
"Ah! thanks, bourgeois. _Crédié!_ it's a pleasure to work for you;
you're very free with your cash. I am always at your service--day or
night--no matter what time; whenever you need me, I'll be ready. And if
you should be short of the needful, I'd work for you all the same;
because, you see, when I once get attached to people, it isn't just
selfishness that makes me work for them--it's the heart--it's----"
"All right, my good fellow, thanks! Some day, perhaps, I shall put your
zeal to the proof. Go and enjoy yourself. I must return to my friends."
"Oh! yes, we are going to have rather a choice little spree!" cried
Sans-Cravate, as he went downstairs four at a time. "Bastringuette will
have a chance to let herself go; she's so fond of good things to eat!
Three cart-wheels to spend: a tricycle! nothing less, by God!"
While Sans-Cravate left the restaurant, singing at the top of his voice,
Albert returned to his place at the table.
"Give me something to drink!" he cried; "champagne! let us play cards
and get drunk! I am in the mood now to do whatever you choose."
"It seems that all the replies are favorable," said Mouillot.
"Oh! very favorable!" rejoined Albert; "I make no secret of the fact
that there was a woman who was inclined to play the prude with me, and
with whom, of course, I was more in love than ever. But I have obtained
an assignation--a tête-à-tête, at last."
"Oho! it's all settled, then."
"An assignation for this evening?" queried Célestin, with an indifferent
air.
"No, not until to-morrow. So I can pass the evening, and the night too,
with you. I am entirely at your service."
"So much the better; we will have a hot game."
"I shall win, for I am in a lucky vein."
"That's not certain; lucky in love doesn't mean lucky at cards; the
proverb says just the opposite."
"For my part, I believe that luck in one brings luck in the other. So
look out for yourselves to-night."
"Messieurs," said Dupétrain, with his elbows on the table, and glaring
at each of his companions in turn, in order to attract their attention,
"I think that the time has come----"
"To put us to sleep?" cried Balivan.
"No; but to tell you about that extraordinary occurrence that I started
to tell you a moment ago."
"I say, messieurs," said Mouillot; "we may as well let him tell his
story; if we don't, he won't give us a moment's peace this evening.--Go
on, Dupétrain; but if it lasts too long, you won't be allowed to finish
it."
"Oh! messieurs, I am sure that the anecdote won't seem long to you; it's
too interesting for that.--A young woman had a husband, who was
travelling----"
"You have already told us that three times."
"This young woman was very desirous to know whether her husband, while
he was away from her----"
"A messenger wants to speak to Monsieur Pigeonnier," said the waiter, at
the door.
All the young men roared with laughter at the expression of Dupétrain's
face when he was interrupted for the third time at the beginning of his
story. But Tobie left the table, saying:
"Excuse me a moment. Don't go on without me. I am coming right back."
Paul was waiting for Tobie; he seemed very tired, and the perspiration
was still streaming from his face. But Monsieur Pigeonnier began by
saying to him:
"It has taken you a very long time; you are very late; if I was a
messenger, I would move quicker than this."
"It's not my fault, monsieur," Paul replied. "I went first to the Marché
du Temple, to see Madame Agar Abraham."
"Speak lower, messenger, lower! Come to the foot of the stairs; there
are too many people passing here."
They went downstairs, and Tobie led Paul into the farthest corner of the
courtyard.
"Now, go on," he said; "I am listening."
"I handed monsieur's letter to Madame Abraham."
"Very good; where's the money she gave you?"
"She gave me no money for monsieur; but after reading the letter, she
cried: 'My nephew is trying to make a fool of me! does he suppose that I
am going to support him in his extravagance? I won't lend him another
sou! not another liard! and if he don't pay what he owes me---- '"
"All right! all right! that's enough! Madame Agar was jesting; in the
first place, I am not her nephew, but that's a favorite term of hers
that she applies to everybody; she even calls some of her lady customers
her nephews. I'll go and give her a lecture, to teach her not to be so
familiar.--Then you went to my concierge, Madame Pluchonneau, who made
haste to do what I wanted?"
"She didn't make any too much haste, monsieur. In the first place, she
cried: 'If monsieur thinks I like doing such errands as this--carrying
his coat to the Mont-de-Piété---- '"
"Hush! hush! not so loud! Those concierges are so infernally insolent.
It's very warm in my room, the sun shines into it all day; I don't need
to keep my winter clothes through the summer, for the moths to eat; and
then, I have so many clothes, I really don't know where to keep them.
Well?"
"Well, monsieur, your concierge went on with her dinner and didn't show
the slightest zeal."
"I'll have my landlord discharge her."
"When she had finished her dinner, she went up to your room.--'If
monsieur sends to the Mont-de-Piété so often,' she said, 'I don't know
what he'll have left to cover his backside.'"
"Backside! she didn't use that word, I trust?"
"I beg your pardon, monsieur; I have repeated exactly what she said."
"She'll pay dear for that. She shall not do my chamber work any more--I
mean, she shan't help my valet with my cooking. But let us skip these
details; they are eating the dessert without me."
"At last, monsieur, your concierge did your errand. She was gone a very
long time; that's why I could not return any sooner, as you told me to
wait."
"True."
"She came back in a very ill humor, and gave me this for monsieur."
And Paul handed Tobie two five-franc pieces and one of two francs.
"Twelve francs!" he cried. "What does this mean? twelve francs for a
superb silk-lined paletot, with a velvet collar! Messenger, she must
have given you more than this."
Paul repressed with difficulty an angry retort, and handed Tobie a slip
of paper, saying:
"No, monsieur; there wasn't any more money, but she gave me this paper
with it, which will prove that I have handed you all that I received."
The paper was the Mont-de-Piété ticket. Tobie read it, and muttered:
"The Arabs! twelve francs! only twelve francs for a luxurious garment
which cost me a hundred and nineteen! However, I won't let them keep it
long, to teach them---- All right, my boy, all right!"
And Monsieur Pigeonnier started to go away without paying the messenger.
He thought better of it, however, went back to Paul, and put a ten-sou
piece in his hand.
"Here, my boy," he said; "here's your money."
Paul glanced at the ten-sou piece, and could not refrain from saying:
"What, monsieur! this is all you give me for more than three hours?"
"Three hours! three hours! it isn't my fault if you make a job last
forever."
"But, monsieur----"
"I never give less than ten sous for an errand, and never more; it's
quite enough."
"I did two errands for monsieur; I went first to the Temple, and----"
"Well, well, all right! here--for God's sake, don't whine!"
Tobie reluctantly took four sous more from his pocket and gave them to
Paul, then ran quickly up the stairs; while the young messenger,
evidently confused and humiliated by the way in which he had been
treated, walked slowly away from the Maison-Dorée.
Tobie instantly resumed his seat at the table, and, to make up for lost
time, stuffed himself with biscuit, fruit, preserves and confections;
but, although he did full honor to the dessert, his face, when he
rejoined his friends, was very far from expressing the lively
satisfaction depicted on Albert's and Célestin's after their interviews
with their respective messengers.
"This time," said Mouillot, "I fancy that the reply was not so agreeable
as on the two preceding occasions. Young Tobie does not appear perfectly
content. She no longer loves him!"
"I beg your pardon," replied Tobie, filling his glass with champagne;
"on the contrary, she loves me too well."
"It's very strange, but one would swear that you were annoyed. Don't lie
about it: your charmer has given you your walking ticket."
"Not at all! but she's a horribly jealous creature, with whom I was to
dine to-day. I broke my engagement in order to join you, and she writes
me that it is plain that I no longer love her, and that she's going to
take poison; that alarms me a little, because she's quite capable of
doing as she says."
"Nonsense! you must have read it wrong; it's fish [_poisson_] that she's
going to take. Show us her letter."
"Impossible, messieurs! I must respect her reputation."
"I say! you're putting figs and raisins in your pockets now; do you like
them pocketed, too?"
"Oh! I was absent-minded; that devil of a woman! Why need she disturb my
enjoyment! Basta! I won't think any more about her. Another love awaits
me! Give me something to drink!"
Monsieur Dupétrain, who had been coughing persistently for several
minutes to attract the others' attention, replaced his elbows on the
table, and began:
"Messieurs, as the three messengers you were expecting have all come at
last and brought replies to your messages, and as you will not be called
away again, I think that this is an opportune time to tell you my
somnambulistic anecdote."
The young men prepared to listen; and Mouillot drew his watch, saying:
"I am going to see how long your story lasts; I warn you that I give you
only ten minutes. Look, Dupétrain, you see that it's eight twenty-five."
Monsieur Dupétrain did not look at the watch, for he was already off.
"A young woman, the wife of a man who was on a journey----"
But at that moment, Albert, as if he suddenly recalled the plan he had
formed, cried:
"Eight twenty-five! Well, Tobie, what about your appointment for
half-past eight? You have no time to spare, for the lady is not very
patient."
Tobie sprang to his feet, delighted to have an opportunity to leave in a
hurry; without losing an instant, he threw down his napkin and seized
his hat.
"Mon Dieu!" he cried; "that is true; and I had forgotten it for the
moment. I must run. Excuse me, messieurs, but it is an adventure which I
should be very sorry to miss.--Pay for me, Albert; I haven't time to
wait for the bill."
"Very well! Will you come back this evening, to tell us the result of
the interview?"
"To be sure; and to play a game of bouillotte with you. Will you be
here?"
"No," said Mouillot; "if we want to make a night of it, we had better go
to Balivan's; we shall be more at liberty there."
"My studio is at your service, messieurs; with pipes of all sizes, from
all countries."
"All right; then I will join you at Monsieur Balivan's."
"You know my address? Rue Taitbout."
"I know, I know! Au revoir!--By the way, Monsieur Dupétrain, please
don't tell your story till I come back."
Dupétrain made no reply; he had taken his head in his hands and was
fascinating his plate. The young men laughed heartily, and Tobie
disappeared.
VII
MADAME PLAYS.--THE SHOWMEN
Madame Plays was a woman of some twenty-five or thirty years, who looked
her full age, because she had a large and powerfully built frame, and
features in harmony therewith. But although women of that stamp seem to
attain at an early age the summer of their existence, they have the
satisfaction of retaining the aspect of that season when they are well
advanced in their autumn; that is a compensation which may fairly be
considered an advantage.
Madame was a fine figure of a woman; not too tall, but perhaps somewhat
overdeveloped in the way of embonpoint; her outlines were still
graceful, however, and her broad, well-rounded hips showed that she did
not need to resort to artifice to imitate nature. A foot of medium size,
with a gracefully arched instep, a stout but well-proportioned leg, a
pretty arm, a soft, plump hand, with those taper fingers that seem
destined to touch none but pleasant things--so much for the body. A face
of a decidedly rustic type, but fresh and attractive; a large nose, a
large mouth with pretty teeth, brown eyes which promised many things,
and eyebrows which promised still more--so much for the features.
As for her mind, no one ever mentioned it; it was regarded as absent.
She was all material and sensual; but she had had the tact to choose a
husband well suited to her. A man of forty years, stupid as an owl, but
in vigorous health; quite capable, when his wife was not otherwise
provided, of fulfilling all the duties imposed upon him by his marital
office, and deeming himself very fortunate when madame deigned to permit
him to enter upon those duties. In a word, she led him by the nose,
deceived him every day, and did not allow him to dine out without her
permission.
A single incident will suffice to elucidate Monsieur Plays's character.
One day, one of his intimate friends met him a few steps from his home.
When he accosted him, he noticed that Monsieur Plays, who was usually
perfectly calm and placid, seemed somewhat excited, and that his eyes
were rolling from side to side with an unaccustomed expression.
"I was coming to see you, Plays," said his friend; "but what's the
matter with you, pray? you seem rather excited."
Monsieur Plays wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and replied:
"Faith! I have good reason; just listen. I went home just now,
unexpectedly, it is true, for I wanted to tell my wife that I have a box
for the Bouffes; I opened her bedroom door, without knocking, and I
found her--I found her--with one of my cousins--in a position--there was
no mistake about it--you understand, don't you?"
"Oh! yes, I understand perfectly. Well, didn't you do anything?"
"Yes. I went out again and slammed the door with all my might! They must
have seen that I didn't like it."
And the adventure had no other consequences, except that when he next
appeared before his wife Monsieur Plays had a sheepish look, as if he
were ashamed of the way he had ventured to slam the door.
Such was Herminie Plays's husband. He did a large commission business
and made a great deal of money; which was very necessary in his
household, as madame spent an enormous amount for her dress and her
pleasures.
It was half-past eight o'clock. The weather was fair and warm, for it
was still summer; but the daylight was beginning to fade, and one had to
be very near a person to distinguish his features plainly.
There was a large throng in the neighborhood of the flower market of the
Chaussée d'Antin--that is to say, beside the Madeleine. There were not
many flowers left; still there were enough to content the modest
purchasers who came late in order to pay less.
For ten minutes, a woman dressed in the height of fashion had been
walking back and forth in front of the rosebushes, myrtles, and
orange-trees; sometimes she walked on the outer edge of the sidewalk, to
avoid the people who were examining the shrubs; but her glances ranged
over the whole market and its neighborhood; not a man passed without her
looking closely at him to make sure that it was not he for whom she was
waiting; you have already divined that the woman was Herminie Plays.
There was an impatient gleam in her eyes, for a rendezvous of this sort
was something to which she was not accustomed; and if Monsieur Albert
Vermoncey had not been a very fascinating young man, it is probable that
she would already have left the place.
Suddenly a short, stout young man came toward her, walking as rapidly as
his little legs would allow. She saw him coming, but she was about to
turn her head away, for he was not the young man she was expecting, when
he halted in front of her and raised his hat, saying:
"It is surely Madame Plays to whom I have the honor of wishing a
good-evening?"
"Yes, monsieur. Ah! it is Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier! I did not recognize
you at first--it is getting quite dark."