last winter; freezing cold, but bright sunlight, and I'd had an idea for
a long time that I'd like to go by the railroad to Corbeil, and then
take a walk in the forest of Fontainebleau, where they say there's
snakes--and I'm very curious to see one, yes, and a big one, too; I've
never been afraid of the beasts. So I says to Sans-Cravate: 'You're
going to take me to Fontainebleau on the railroad, and we'll have a
little spree down there in the country, on the grass; it'll be a little
cold, but all the more fun for that; I like to eat and drink on the
grass. It's a long time since I've been in the country, and it'll do me
good.'--Sans-Cravate felt in his pocket, and found he had only five
francs. I says: 'That's a little scant to do things up brown on the
grass; we ought to have at least twice that. Let's see if there ain't
some way of getting some more cash.'--At that, he says: 'I've got some
customers that owe me something; among others that family that lives on
the fifth in Rue des Martyrs, that I moved six months ago.'--'Well,' I
says, 'if you wait any longer, they'll be moving again, and without your
help this time. Go and get your money; a poor messenger has the right to
ask for what's owing him, after six months.'--And I urged him so that he
decided to go there, but what do you suppose he did?"
"Smashed everything to make 'em pay him," said Jean Ficelle; "at least,
that's what I'd have done."
"Oh! no, you wouldn't," said Sans-Cravate; "if you'd seen the poverty of
those poor people, you'd have done just what I did, for you couldn't
have helped being touched. When I went into their room--they lived up
under the eaves--it was near six o'clock in the morning; I found the man
and his wife still in bed. They had old towels round their heads for
nightcaps, that made 'em look like Turks. They had no bedclothes but an
old quilt all full of holes, so they'd piled all their clothes on the
bed--old dresses, a pair of trousers, and even old boots! all that to
keep 'em warm! And then, in a recess, there was the child's bed--a
pretty, red-cheeked little boy, two or three years old--I say, the bed,
but it wasn't one! Guess what the child was lying in--an old muff, with
hardly any fur left on it; they had stuffed the little fellow into that,
and then taken out the drawer of a commode and put him in it for a bed.
When he saw me come in, the man said: 'My dear friend, if you have come
for what I owe you, I shall have to ask you to be kind enough to wait a
little longer; for I've been out of work for a fortnight. We lie in bed
as long as possible, because we haven't got anything to make a fire, and
what is worse is that I don't know just now what we're going to
breakfast on to-day!'--I'd just like to know if I could ask those people
for money! I tried to comfort 'em a little, and then I went away."
"That's very well, but he don't tell you the whole story," cried
Bastringuette; "he not only didn't ask 'em for what was owing him, but
he left on that poor man's mantelpiece the only five-franc piece he
owned; so, instead of bringing back twice what he had, so that we could
have some fun, he came back without a sou!"
Paul seized Sans-Cravate's hand and shook it warmly, crying:
"Ah! that was fine, Sans-Cravate! that was a fine thing you did! you
have a warm heart, you're a good fellow!"
"Oh! _pardi!_ what a fuss over nothing!" rejoined the messenger, filling
his glass; "of course, that little fellow in the muff had to have some
breakfast! My credit's good at the wine shop, you see, so I could
wait."
"If all creditors acted like that," muttered Jean Ficelle, "trade would
be pretty bad.--I say, Laboussole, if your creditors gave you five
francs, that would suit you down to the ground, eh?"
This apostrophe was addressed to the individual with the striped cravat,
who had long since finished his beer, but was still chewing his bread
and beating the table with his knife as if he were playing a drum. He
thrust out his chin toward his interlocutor, and replied with a
sprightly air:
"I should be a millionaire! as it is, I'm strapped. What do you expect?
you see that every day! and I've known what it is to eat roast veal and
lettuce, and to drink all the wine I wanted. We all have our ups and
downs [_bas_]."
"But he hasn't any stockings [_bas_], just now," murmured Bastringuette,
after a glance at Laboussole; "that fellow looks to me like an old
pickpocket."
"Not at all," said Jean Ficelle; "he's a man who used to have great
talent in his line. But, you see, he has had hard luck."
"What was his line?"
"He was an inspector at the Market."
"The devil! that's a good place; why did he lose it?"
"Oh! they put up a dirty game on him--stuffed fish and chickens in his
pockets, and then said he stole 'em--a low-down trick, I say! One day,
when he had a salmon in one pocket and a turkey in another, they had the
cheek to arrest him and dismiss him for it."
"Couldn't the man tell when he had fish about him?" said Bastringuette.
"Apparently not; there's so much of it at the Market that you walk on
it."
"All the same, his innocence looks to me almighty muddy! What does he do
now?"
"He sells tickets for the _Belle-en-Cuisse_ ball, on Rue des Martyrs,
near the barrier. But when there's no ball, he's _smoked_, and that's
the case to-day."
"I say, old boy, won't you have a drink with us?" said Sans-Cravate,
raising his glass toward Laboussole, who accepted the invitation as soon
as he understood it, and brought his glass to the messengers' table,
saying:
"I never refuse a drink of wine."
Bastringuette made an angry gesture, and muttered between her teeth:
"What a stupid fool that Sans-Cravate is! As if we wanted that old
fossil! But as soon as he has a shiner or two, he's for treating
everybody he sees; so he don't keep 'em long!"
Paul seemed no better pleased than Bastringuette to be at the same table
with the ex-inspector, and he moved his chair away from that
gentleman's, who thereupon seized the opportunity to move close to the
table; and drawing toward him the dish of rabbit, in which only the head
remained, he began to lap it with his tongue, humming:
"'When a man knows how to love and please,
What other blessing does he need?'"
"Well, I think we'll have a little dessert," said Sans-Cravate; "we
mustn't stop at rabbit stew.--Come, Bastringuette, what do you want for
dessert?"
"Sausage with garlic," replied the girl.
"Agreed!--Here, waiter! four sausages with garlic, and see that they're
spiced in the good old style--no, five, for Laboussole will take care of
one--eh, old boy?"
"I never refused a sausage," replied that individual, continuing his
perquisitions into every cavity of the rabbit's head.
"Good God! you're eating the eyes!" cried Jean Ficelle, who was watching
Laboussole at work.
"I'd eat yours, if you was stewed. I'm very fond of that tidbit."
The sausages were brought. Each guest took one, except Paul, who
declared that he was not hungry. Whereupon Jean Ficelle assumed his
bantering air, and remarked:
"They ain't sweet enough for him."
And Bastringuette added:
"Perhaps his skirt cutter don't like the taste of garlic!"
"I say, comrade, you don't keep up your end!" cried Sans-Cravate,
forcing Paul to let him fill his glass. "Don't you enjoy being with your
friends?"
"There's no doubt about it," said Jean Ficelle; "Paul's acting damned
queer. Anyone would say that it made him sore to be at the wine shop
with us."
"Why do you attribute such thoughts to me?" rejoined Paul; "am I any
different from you two? What am I but a messenger, like you? As for the
wine shop, as I come here very seldom, it's not surprising that I don't
seem so much at home as you."
"You say you don't come to the wine shop often?" cried Laboussole,
eating his sausage with great zest. "You make a mistake, young man; the
wine shop's the only place where one can enjoy life. It's the rendezvous
of good company. I'd like never to leave it, myself!"
Paul made no reply, but turned his back on Laboussole, while Jean added
maliciously:
"_Dame!_ a man don't go to the wine shop when he can play the swell! and
I'm told that friend Paul has been seen now and then in a fine rig, with
a hat instead of a cap."
"Oho!" cried Sans-Cravate, emptying his glass; "how's that, comrade, do
you play the swell now and then?"
"It's all a mistake," murmured Paul, evidently annoyed by the question.
"I've got good eyes, myself," said Laboussole, tilting his remnant of a
hat over one ear. "Yes, I saw our friend, not more than a week ago, in
the Marais, and he was dressed a good deal like a wholesale grocer."
"Aha! aha!" said Bastringuette, fastening her great black eyes on Paul's
face; "are you a prince disguised as a messenger? It seems to me that
I've heard some such fairy tale as that. If that's so, and you want to
make my fortune, don't be bashful--I'll accept."
"I am nothing more than I appear to be," replied Paul, with a sigh; "but
I have good eyes, too, and I saw monsieur in front of a game of chance
under Pont d'Austerlitz."
The ex-inspector was evidently embarrassed, and tried to pull his hat
over his eyes; he glanced at Jean Ficelle and rejoined in a hoarse
voice:
"That may be! What is there surprising in that? A man goes out for a
stroll, and stops in front of any show he sees. That's the way we sail
down the river of life."
"Come, let's drink and sing!" cried Sans-Cravate. "What's the odds how a
man's dressed, or where he walks? Ain't we our own masters? ain't
liberty as much for one man as another?"
"That's my opinion," replied Laboussole, holding out his glass, the
contents of which he swallowed with the facility of an Englishman
drinking champagne. "You're what I call a man, you are, Sans-Cravate!
and I'm your friend from this minute."
"I don't doubt it!" muttered Bastringuette; "he's anybody's friend
who'll treat him--eh, Paul? Well, Cupid, why don't you answer, instead
of looking at the floor like a girl? Don't you know it's indecent not to
look at a woman when she speaks to you?"
Paul seemed not to hear, and made no reply. As for Sans-Cravate, the
frequent bumpers he had drunk were beginning to excite his brain and
becloud his eyes. He did not notice the glances that his mistress
bestowed upon her vis-à-vis; but Jean Ficelle, who saw everything,
smiled malignantly as he muttered between his teeth, though loudly
enough for Sans-Cravate to hear:
"What infernal traitors women are! If I had a mistress, I'd never take
her into company, unless there was nobody else there."
"Well," observed the shabbily clad guest, attacking the sausage Paul had
refused, "business don't seem to be very bad, my friends, for your life
is watered with wine."
"I had a good evening," said Sans-Cravate; "fifteen francs for one
errand!"
"Peste! is it a duke and peer that you work for, my friend?"
"No; but a young man who lives well! _Bigre!_ that's the kind of a spark
I like. He's open-handed, I tell you!"
"He ain't like mine," said Jean Ficelle; "he flung me a paltry two-franc
piece for trotting about more than two hours."
"Mine gave me even less than that," said Paul; "and yet I had to wait a
long while in several places."
"Ah! my patron's the boy for me," continued Sans-Cravate; "he's a jolly
fellow, and a good one, too! He enjoys himself and wants other people
to do the same. Yes, he's a good fellow; let's drink to the health of
Monsieur Albert Vermoncey."
"That's the talk! Here's to him!"
"Well, Paul, aren't you going to drink?"
"I'm not thirsty."
"Does that prevent your drinking? Come on!"
"No; I've no desire to get drunk."
"Bah! what a soft-head! You're not a man, then; you're an old woman! As
if a man ever refused to drink with friends!"
"No, no," said Jean Ficelle, who was doing his best to set Sans-Cravate
against his young comrade; "he insults us."
"A man never refuses to drink," said Monsieur Laboussole, touching his
glass to Paul's; but the young messenger took his glass and threw it on
the floor, saying:
"I don't choose to drink with you, I say!"
The man with the shapeless hat seemed to view this rebuff with
indifference, and contented himself with the retort:
"Young man, he who breaks glasses--you know the rest, don't you?"
But Sans-Cravate, inflamed by the wine he had drunk, sprang to his feet,
crying:
"_Sacrédié!_ I don't like such manners myself, and if it had been
anybody else---- But you'd better not do it again, or----"
"Well, what?" cried Bastringuette, rising also, and planting herself in
front of Sans-Cravate; "are we going to kick up a row? If we are, why,
I'll make more noise than you! Who ever heard of getting mad with a
friend because he didn't want to drink? Ain't Paul his own master? For
my part, I say he's quite right not to get drunk like you people! When
you're drunk, you're just like brutes, you're good for nothing but
fighting; and if you think anybody loves you, why, you're damnably
mistaken!"
"See how she takes his part!" exclaimed Jean Ficelle; "if you was in
love with the man, it wouldn't be any worse."
"If I'm in love with anyone," retorted Bastringuette, "it ain't with
you, that's sure!"
Sans-Cravate, who was getting more and more excited, and whose jealousy
was beginning to blaze under the influence of Jean Ficelle's hints and
malicious remarks, seized the girl's arm, as she stood beside him, and
shook her roughly.
"It seems to me, also," he cried, "that you take up my comrade's defence
much too warmly! Do you know, I don't like that. Does it mean that
you're inclined to play tricks on me?"
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. Her face was pale, her
eyebrows drew together, her eyes flashed fire. There was in her wrath
something which embellished her features and almost imparted distinction
to them; everyone was impressed, and Sans-Cravate stood perfectly still,
apparently resigned to receive the threatened blow.
"I ought to break this plate over your head," said Bastringuette; "yes,
that I ought, to teach you to shake my arm like that! If I still loved
you, I'd do it; but as I don't love you any more, I forgive you."
As she spoke, she put the plate back on the table. Sans-Cravate glanced
at her with a disturbed expression, and said in a faltering tone:
"Ah! you don't love me any more?"
"No," rejoined Bastringuette, dwelling upon every word. "I am outspoken.
I don't propose to play tricks on you, as you seem to fear. But from
this moment I am not your mistress; I take back my liberty."
"What! do you mean it?"
"Oh! I don't make any mystery of it, you see; I say it right out before
everybody."
"But----"
"But what? We ain't bound together in such a way that we can't separate.
Would you rather have me do like the women in society? stay with you,
when I don't love you, and deceive you all day? That ain't my style."
"If you don't love me any more, then you must love somebody else!"
"_Pardi!_ that's easy to guess!" muttered Jean Ficelle.
"No matter who I love! it's none of your business! Love whoever you
please! I don't care a hair of monsieur's whiskers!"
And the tall girl pointed to Laboussole, who smiled and caressed his
whiskers, saying:
"All women don't talk that way."
"Ah! so that's how it is!" cried Sans-Cravate, emptying his glass; while
Bastringuette resumed her seat at the table, apparently much calmer.
"All right! as you choose! To the devil with love, and women! Let's have
a drink, my friends; let's have a drink!"
"But it's late," said Paul; "I hear them closing downstairs. Aren't we
going now, Sans-Cravate?"
"Go, if you choose--I am going to stay, with my friends, with my true
friends!" retorted Sans-Cravate, glaring angrily at the young man.
"No; you are going with me; you have had enough to drink; you mustn't
get drunk!"
"What business is it of yours, if it suits me to get drunk? I'm my own
master, too. I haven't any woman now to bother me, and bore me to death.
_Crédié!_ how I will make things hum now!"
"That will be very pretty!" murmured Bastringuette. "He'll do some fine
things. For my part, I don't want anything more to do with men who make
beasts of themselves with drink! I prefer a sober lover--they're more
refined in their love making."
"Drink! drink! more wine, waiter!" cried Sans-Cravate, determined to
befuddle himself still more, in order to avoid manifesting his chagrin
over his rupture with his mistress.
"That's the talk!" said Jean Ficelle. "Sound men never sulk! Let the
maggoty ones go! we can do without 'em!"
"O my friends!" cried Laboussole, in a sentimental tone, "when we are so
comfortable together, we mustn't think of separating; let's stay here a
week--what do you say? Good! we will!"
Paul leaned over toward Bastringuette, and said in an undertone:
"You are responsible for Sans-Cravate's getting drunk. He is drinking to
forget the grief you have caused him by telling him that you meant to
leave him! and it may result in some catastrophe."
"What do I care? I'm done with him. I don't love him any more; I love
somebody else, and that somebody else is you."
Paul drew back without replying. At that moment, they heard roars of
laughter in another part of the room, where the red-nosed carpenter,
surrounded by drinkers, was saying:
"Yes. I'll bet I can do it. Yes, I say, I'll bet I can, and that nobody
else'll do it after me. Bah! you're a pack of cowards, you don't dare to
bet!"
"Ah! there's Cagnoux up to his tricks!" said Jean Ficelle; "challenging
everybody, as usual."
Sans-Cravate left his place and walked to the carpenter's table.
"What is it you're going to do that the others won't do?" he asked.
"That's a pretty good one! Do you think there's no cocks here of your
size, Cagnoux?"
"That's so," muttered Laboussole, emptying all the bottles into his
glass; "yes, we're up to anything, we are! you'd better not defy us."
The carpenter, who was completely drunk, succeeded in getting on his
feet, nevertheless; and trying hard to stand without staggering, raised
an enormous glass and said:
"You see this glass, don't you? holds a pint. Just fill it with brandy,
and I'll empty it at one draught; there ain't one of you smart enough to
do as much."
"Parbleu! that's a wonderful thing," cried Sans-Cravate; "to drink that
glassful of brandy; that ain't very hard."
"Sans-Cravate is quite capable of trying it," said Jean Ficelle, who
also had left his seat, to join the bystanders. "Yes, I know him; he'll
do it. If I hadn't a pain in the stomach, I'd do it myself."
"I'll bet six quarts for the company that I'll drink that glassful of
brandy at one draught, without stopping for breath; do you take me, old
Cagnoux?"
"Done!" replied the carpenter; "shake."
Sans-Cravate stepped forward to take the hand that Cagnoux held out; but
that worthy, being unable to keep his legs any longer, fell back on his
chair, and the messenger's hand struck him on top of the head and
knocked his old cap over his nose. This episode was greeted with shouts
of laughter. The carpenter laughed with the rest, and, having extricated
himself from his cap, exclaimed:
"Bring the brandy, and, if he loses, I'll make the same bet."
Thereupon Paul rose, and, paying no heed to Bastringuette, who asked him
if he would not go away with her, ran to Sans-Cravate and grasped his
hand.
"Sans-Cravate, surely you're not going to take that bet. You are not
going to be crazy enough to drink that enormous glassful of brandy!"
"Why not, I'd like to know?" rejoined the messenger, withdrawing his
hand. "If I choose to do it, is it any of your business? Go and court
Bastringuette, and leave us in peace!"
"You know very well that I am not in love with your mistress."
"Oh! she ain't my mistress any more; it's all one to me whether she's
yours or not."
The tone in which Sans-Cravate spoke indicated that he was not so
indifferent as he claimed to be with respect to the flower girl's
becoming Paul's mistress; but the younger man tried to take his
comrade's hand again, saying:
"Come, come, let's not say anything more about Bastringuette! Your
quarrel with her is none of my business; and, besides, you'll make it up
to-morrow. But I beg you not to drink that enormous quantity of brandy;
it is very dangerous; it may kill you!"
"Bah! and if it does, I don't care!"
"The bet is taken! it's too late to back out," said Jean Ficelle,
rubbing his hands.
"Yes, a bet's a sacred thing," observed Monsieur Laboussole, who had at
last decided to leave the table, on which there was nothing more to
drink, and join the crowd around Sans-Cravate and Cagnoux. "I don't know
anything more sacred than a bet! Once I bet that I'd eat a tremendous
great fried carp, with all its bones. When I'd put down about
three-quarters of it, I found I was strangling; but I'd made the bet, so
I kept on. I tore my throat with a bone, and it was sore for six months;
but I won the bet, which was ten sous, and my honor was safe!"
The waiter appeared with a huge measure of brandy; while he was filling
the mammoth glass, Paul went up to Sans-Cravate once more, and said to
him:
"I am less excited than the others, and I am your friend; for heaven's
sake, listen to me!"
"You're not my friend any more; besides, you broke your glass rather
than drink with me--I haven't forgotten that."
"It wasn't you that I didn't want to drink with; it was Laboussole, and
you'll see later whether I was right or not."
At that moment, there was a general cry of:
"The glass is full! Come, Sans-Cravate, now's the time to show what
you're made of!"
"Here I am!" replied the messenger, roughly shaking himself clear of
Paul's grasp and approaching the table on which stood the subject of the
wager.
But Paul was too quick for him; he ran to the table, reached it first,
and with the back of his hand knocked the glass to the floor, where it
broke in a thousand pieces, and the brandy ran in all directions.
The young messenger's act was followed by a growl of dissatisfaction and
menace. Some of the bystanders seemed to be dazed by the bare idea that
a man could make up his mind to waste such an enormous quantity of the
precious liquid; and Monsieur Laboussole, heedless of the danger of
staining his trousers, instantly dropped on all fours, and, putting his
tongue to the boards, tried to lap up a part of it.
But Sans-Cravate, beside himself with rage and crazy with drink, rushed
at Paul and seized him around the waist, saying in a threatening tone:
"That's an insult! You meant to keep me from winning my bet, but you've
got to give me satisfaction! We are going to fight, do you hear? Look
out for yourself, for I shall strike hard!"
"Yes, yes!" shouted Jean Ficelle; "he insulted Sans-Cravate, he insulted
Cagnoux, he insulted all of us, by breaking that glass. He must have a
licking! we must give him a lesson! that will teach him to behave better
in a wine shop."
And Monsieur Laboussole, still lapping the brandy on the floor, added in
a voice half stifled by his attitude:
"We must beat him; or else make him pay for twice the quantity of brandy
for the company."
Thereupon Bastringuette stepped into the midst of the men who surrounded
the young messenger, and, planting herself in front of him, cried:
"Is the whole lot of you going to take sides against him? That's brave
of you--a dozen against one! I tell you not to lay a finger on him, or
I'll scratch all your eyes out!"
But Sans-Cravate pushed the girl aside with a turn of his wrist.
"He ain't going to fight any twelve men, but just me alone," he
said.--"Come on, are you ready?"
"No," replied Paul, who had remained perfectly calm amid all the uproar,
"no, I won't fight with you."
"Then you're a coward!"
"I am not a coward. Let any other man come forward, and I'll agree to
fight with him; but not with you, Sans-Cravate, for you're out of your
head now, and to-morrow you'll be sorry that you struck your friend."
"Ah! he's crawling! he's crawling!" cried Jean Ficelle. "He wants to
make us think Sans-Cravate has drunk too much."
"I am the one you made a fool of by breaking that glass, and you've got
to fight with me!" repeated Sans-Cravate. "_Crédié!_ come on, and have
done with it, or I'll knock you down!"
The powerful messenger shook his fist at Paul, who remained unmoved and
seemed to have determined not to avoid the blow; while all the men who
stood about drew back to leave more room for the combatants, upon whom
every eye was fixed.