were heard in the wine shop below, followed by the sound of muskets
striking the floor; at the same instant, the waiter appeared at the top
of the stairs, with a terror-stricken air, crying:
"The watch! here's the watch! they're coming up here!"
"The watch!" muttered several of the bystanders; "what are they doing
here?"--"It isn't twelve o'clock."--"We have a right to drink."--"I
won't go away, for one."
"They've come for something else," said the waiter; "there's two
detectives with the soldiers; they've come to arrest someone, I
suppose."
The workmen and the drunkards seemed but little affected by the news.
But Monsieur Laboussole, who was still on all fours, crawled under a
table, although there was no brandy there.
The soldiers and detectives came upstairs almost at the waiter's heels.
They entered the room, leaving two soldiers to watch the stairway.
"Why in the devil do you come here and disturb us?" demanded
Sans-Cravate. "We've no business with you. I'd like to know if we ain't
at liberty to drink and sing, and quarrel a little too, if we want to?"
The detectives, who had already scrutinized everybody in the room, did
not answer Sans-Cravate; but one of them went to the table under which
the ex-inspector of the Market had taken refuge, and dragged him forth
from his hiding-place by the legs.
"This is the gentleman we're looking for," he said.--"Come, up with you!
you must go with us!"
"Messieurs," cried Laboussole, trying to bury his nose in his cravat,
"this is a mistake, I assure you; I must be the victim of an unfortunate
resemblance. I know more than twenty men who look like me."
"No, no, you're the man we want; come, off you go--and step lively!"
"What are you arresting this man for?" demanded Sans-Cravate; while Jean
Ficelle pulled him by the jacket and whispered in his ear:
"Defend him! thrash the curs! you're strong enough."
"Because he's a thief!" replied the detective, pushing Laboussole toward
the stairs.
Paul glanced at Sans-Cravate, who turned pale and neither moved nor
spoke. The word _thief_ had sobered him in an instant.
IX
A STUDIO PARTY.--A FETICH.--THE BURGUNDIAN
It is very disagreeable to be disappointed in one's expectations; but
the disappointment is especially keen after an amorous rendezvous: you
have dreamed of happiness in its most seductive form; your imagination
has conceived the most touching pictures, the most gratifying
situations. All these thoughts have heated your brain and your
mind--when you have one--and your passions at least, in default of a
mind; and when all your anticipations result in nothing at all, you beat
a retreat in dire distress, like the crow in the fable. But if, instead
of the kisses that you hoped to steal, you have received a blow, you are
quite justified in being vexed and angry, as well as distressed.
It is said that a blow from a woman's hand does no harm; doubtless
because, being often dealt in obedience to a hasty impulse, it is
followed by repentance, and the recipient is accorded the privilege of
earning another. But take a sharp, stinging blow, and nothing more. I
doubt whether the fact that it was delivered by the loveliest of women
and the prettiest hand would make it welcome to you.
You will say, perhaps, that Madame Plays had not given young Pigeonnier
a rendezvous. True; but she had accepted his escort, she had consented
to go to a private dining-room with him; and those concessions, in the
judgment of discerning persons, would be tantamount to giving her
consent that he should take Albert's place in every respect.
The little fellow reflected profoundly, as he walked from the
Champs-Élysées to Rue Taitbout; he walked very fast, for one rarely
moves slowly when intensely excited.
"Can it be that Albert didn't write what he dictated to himself?" he
thought. "I ought to have read his letter before delivering it. Can he
have written some insulting thing about her? Was it a deliberate scheme
to make a fool of me? _Fichtre!_ if I knew that, he'd hear something
more from me! I don't propose to be made a guy of!"
In his excitement, the young man brandished his beautiful gold-headed
cane, as if he proposed to break somebody's head; and in his
gesticulations he came within an ace of knocking off the hat of a
respectable lady, its somewhat exaggerated brim happening to be directly
under his cane as he imitated the exploits of a drum-major. Luckily, the
ribbons tied under the lady's chin prevented the hat from falling, and
it was simply thrown back on her shoulders. But the gentleman who was
with the lady, and who was indignant that a passer-by should presume to
knock his wife's hat off with a cane, walked up to Tobie, and said to
him in a threatening tone:
"I say, monsieur, what sort of a performance is this? You threaten us
with your cane! You nearly put my wife's eye out, and you knocked off
her hat, which would have fallen into the street if it hadn't been for
the ribbons!"
"Oh! monsieur, madame, a thousand pardons!" stammered Tobie; "I was so
preoccupied--I didn't see you."
"What! are we dwarfs?"
"No, monsieur--far from it; you are very tall. But when a man is
thinking about something else----"
"That's a fine reason! We were thinking of something else, too,
monsieur. Do you suppose we were thinking of your cane? By heaven! if
you had destroyed my wife's eye, you wouldn't have taken your own home
with you!"
"I am sure of it, monsieur; I ask a thousand pardons."
"When you carry a cane, monsieur, you ought to know how to use it."
"It was because I thought that I was using it that I was gesticulating
with it."
During this colloquy the lady had readjusted her hat; and she drew her
husband away, saying:
"Come, my dear; as monsieur did it accidentally, let's accept his
apologies."
"Accidentally! upon my word, it would be very pretty if he had intended
to do it! By all the devils! if I believed that----"
And the gentleman, becoming more and more enraged as he became more
convinced of his adversary's terror, began to grind his teeth and act as
if he proposed to fall upon Tobie; but Tobie was already far away; he
had taken to his heels, trying to thrust his cane into his pocket, as a
means of avoiding any further disaster.
This incident calmed the young man's excitement.
"I cannot accuse Albert," he said to himself, as he reached the
painter's door; "I have no proofs. I ought to have picked up the letter,
when Madame Plays threw it on the floor. I'll go back to the café
to-morrow and ask the waiter if he found it. Meanwhile, I won't be such
a donkey as to tell what happened to me, for they would laugh at me
unmercifully. On the contrary, I must make them think that my triumph
was complete."
Balivan lived on Rue Taitbout, in the same house as young Elina and her
aunt. His apartments were on the third floor; he had three small rooms,
and a studio which was large enough for him, as he painted nothing but
portraits.
Several times, as he was returning home, the young artist had met the
little dressmaker going to her work; and he had been impressed by her
beauty. Knowing that she was his neighbor, he had tried to form an
acquaintance with her, and had proposed to paint her portrait, if she
would be his model for a study which he intended to exhibit at the
Salon. But Elina had declined his offers, and had always refused to
enter the painter's studio. And yet, it is a very pleasant thing to have
one's own portrait. How many women and girls allow themselves to be
allured by such an offer, by the desire to see their faces at the Salon,
and to have an opportunity to listen to the compliments certain to be
lavished upon them. What joy to say to their companions in the workroom:
"My portrait is at the Salon; I represent an Italian peasant--a Swiss
peasant--and a wood nymph. The painter insisted on putting my face in
all his pictures."--Elina, too, had been tempted; but she had resisted
the temptation. To be sure, Balivan was very ugly.
The artist's studio was lighted by a lamp placed on the stove; its rays
fell upon a full-length portrait of a very pretty woman in a ball dress,
and upon the head of an old soldier, whose nose was not finished;
scattered here and there, on the floor, or hung on the walls, were
various canvases, in all stages of completion, from the merest sketch to
the finished portrait. Some plaster busts, easels, a manikin in female
dress, sketches, and several portraits refused admission to the Salon,
or by the persons for whom they were painted, and relegated by the
artist to the darkest corners of the studio, combined to give a unique
aspect to the apartment.
Four young men, seated around a table in the middle of the room, were
enjoying with great zest the pleasures of bouillotte. On a small table,
close at hand, stood an enormous salad bowl filled with blazing punch;
and glasses, pipes, cigars, tobacco pouches, and even snuffboxes, were
scattered over another small table of Chinese lacquer, which had
momentarily deserted the artist's salon to embellish his studio.
When Tobie appeared, the card table was occupied by Albert, Célestin,
Mouillot, and a young man, who was not of the dinner party at the
Maison-Dorée, but had joined the band of roisterers when they left the
restaurant, and had asked for nothing better than to pass the night with
them at bouillotte.
This young man, who was the possessor of an insignificant and utterly
expressionless face, had hair so light that it was almost white, and
eyebrows of the same color, which gave him some resemblance to an
albino; still, in spite of that, he might have been considered a
good-looking fellow enough, if his manner had been less indolent; but he
had about twelve thousand francs a year, which his family permitted him
to consume in Paris; the result being that in society, and especially
among the high livers, Monsieur Varinet's company was much sought after.
Not that he was amiable and jovial in society: he was always cold and
impassive, and not even wine had the power to enliven him; but he spent
his money with the same indifference which he displayed in every other
action of his life; and he would lose large sums at cards without any
sign of emotion. All his friends esteemed him highly on that account.
Gold and silver were scattered over the table, and the animated air of
the players indicated that the game was beginning to be warm.
Balivan himself was filling the glasses with punch, and Dupétrain sat in
front of the manikin dressed as a woman, which he seemed to be
scrutinizing with care.
"Ah! here's Tobie! _Vive Tobie!_" cried the artist, as Pigeonnier
entered the room. And, despite their absorbing interest in the game, the
card players joined in the cry:
"Here's Tobie! Here's that Don Juan of a Tobie!"
The young man with white eyebrows was the only one who said nothing; he
contented himself with saluting the new-comer, as one salutes a person
with whom he is but slightly acquainted.
"Yes, messieurs, it's I," said Pigeonnier, wiping his forehead. "You are
well started already, I see. I speak for a place."
"You can come in with Balivan," said Célestin. "There are six of us now;
two will go out on the quarter-hour."
"And Monsieur Dupétrain?"
"Who ever heard of Dupétrain playing cards? Upon my soul, I believe he's
trying to magnetize my manikin!"
"Well, Tobie," said Albert, "what news of our fair one? Are you content?
Did she accept the substitution with a good grace?"
"I am perfectly content!" Pigeonnier replied, trying to assume a
triumphant swagger. "She didn't seem at all angry over the adventure;
she treated me very kindly."
"Good--I understand. So everything went as you wished, eh?"
"In other words, it is impossible for me to be happier than I have
been."
"What did I tell you?"
"You're not attending to your game, Albert," said Célestin.
"Yes, I am. I have opened."
"I take all bets."
"Done!"
"You're stuck! I have _misty_."[C]
"What infernal luck! That makes four hundred francs I've lost
already!--I say, Balivan, give me some punch, to drown my loss."
"Give me a cigar, Balivan."
"Balivan, you promised me your Moorish pipe; you are going to give it to
me, aren't you?"
"Pass me your tobacco pouch, will you?"
"One moment, messieurs, I can't do everything; I'm going to call my
lady's-maid, on condition that you treat her with respect.--Hallo,
there, Crevette!"
"Is Crevette your servant's name?" inquired Tobie, helping himself to
punch.
"Yes, she's a Burgundian; she had a name that I didn't fancy--it was
Cateau![D] You understand that, when I had a lady of fashion here, I
couldn't say: 'Cateau, come and take off madame's shawl. Cateau, go and
call a cab.' To talk constantly of Cateau before my models, too, was
imprudent. So I asked my Burgundian for her family name, and she's a
Crevette."
The Burgundian answered her master's summons. She was a robust young
woman, with plump red cheeks, and enormous hands and arms of the hue of
boiled lobster. She laughed readily enough at the somewhat décolleté
jests which the young men addressed to her; but when their words were
reinforced by gestures, the Burgundian made free use of her hands, and
the lightest tap dealt by her was equivalent to a hard blow with the
fist.
"Bring us something to drink, Crevette."
"Punch?" said the Burgundian.
"Beer for me, my chubby wench!--Isn't she fresh, though! and solid!"
"Come, come! down with your paws! I won't have you touching me!"
"Oh! what a calf she must have!--Crevette, show me your leg, just up to
the garter, and I'll give you half of my winnings."
"No, I won't show you anything."
"Parbleu! that's a magnificent offer of his, to give you half of his
winnings! he's lost ten napoleons already!"
Young Tobie, who had swallowed three glasses of punch in succession in
order to attain the level of the rest of the company, softly approached
the servant and seized her leg while her back was turned; but the
Burgundian, without putting down her tray, instantly brought her elbow
back against his nose, crying:
"Let that teach you to pinch me! I'm going to bed--I won't come into
your studio again, monsieur; your friends are too enterprising."
Crevette vanished; Tobie put his hand to his nose and seated himself in
a corner, muttering:
"I won't fool with her any more; there's no feeling in my nose."
"Poor Tobie! but he can't seem to get enough. He comes here fresh from a
delicious tête-à-tête with a charming woman, and he must needs begin at
once on a servant! What an omnibus seducer!"
"What would he do, I wonder," said Balivan, "if he should see my little
neighbor overhead?"
"You have a pretty neighbor, have you?" queried Albert.
"Charming! Seventeen years old at most, I judge; a fascinating figure!
and a saucy, mischievous face--with innocence, grace, and modesty in her
glance. Seriously, she's one of the prettiest grisettes I ever saw."
"Send for her!" cried the young men in chorus.
"Make her come down, Balivan."
"Shall I go up and fetch her?" asked Tobie, taking his hand from his
nose, which was badly swollen by the blow he had received.
"I will magnetize her; she will enjoy that," said Dupétrain.
"No, messieurs," said Balivan, "there's no way of inducing her to come
here. Parbleu! if it could be done, I'd ask nothing better. I have
offered again and again to paint her portrait and give it to her--to
paint her in any costume she chose."
"Even as Eve, if she wanted you to, eh?"
"All my offers have been declined. She's a virtuous young woman, it
would seem. She lives with her aunt, and never goes out except to her
work; she's a dressmaker."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Célestin; "she's a dressmaker, and you haven't
triumphed over her, my dear fellow! Others may succeed better; and if I
should take a hand----"
"Oh! you are such a superb creature, it's quite possible. Still, I doubt
it."
"What do you want to bet?"
"Come, attend to your game, messieurs, for God's sake!" said Mouillot.
"Sapristi! I have _misty_, and not one of you stands!"
"Monsieur had _brelan_, and he passed!" cried Tobie. "What a blunder!"
"Not at all. Do you think we're playing _brelan_?"
"You're not playing _brelan?_ Why, aren't you playing bouillotte?"
"Yes, but the _brelan_[E] is never played in bouillotte, nowadays. Where
have you been, young Pigeonnier?"
"What do you play, then?"
"_Misty._"
"What's _misty_?"
"The knave of clubs with two cards of the same color and same size; for
instance, two red nines, or two black aces."
"Very well. And the _brelan_ doesn't count, you say?"
"Not unless _misty_ isn't out; in that case, it's good."
"And the _brelan carré_?"
"Oh! that's always good, and it beats _misty_."
"The devil! I'm rather mixed up with all this; I'm afraid I shall make
mistakes."
"Oh, no! you'll get hold of it in a minute."
Monsieur Dupétrain walked up to Tobie, who was standing by the card
table, and said:
"While you're not playing, I can tell you the anecdote about magnetism
that you were so curious to hear. After you left the dinner table, I
didn't choose to tell it; I preferred to wait for you.--A young married
woman, whose husband had just started on a journey----"
"Excuse me," said Tobie, "but I am studying _misty;_ I don't quite
understand this new way of playing bouillotte, and I shall be very glad
not to make any mistakes. Besides, the quarter has struck, messieurs.
Who goes out?"
"Mouillot and Célestin.--Come, messieurs, give up your seats."
"We'll just finish the _volante_, then we'll go."
"The _volante_?" exclaimed Tobie; "what in the deuce is that?"
"Each person puts in a chip when everyone passes, and you keep putting
in one as long as they pass."
"The devil! that may mount up pretty high, messieurs! why, you are
playing an infernal game!"
"Does it frighten you, Monsieur Tobie?"
"I don't say that. What's the stake?"
"Five francs."
The stout youth felt in his pocket, where he found only enough for one
stake and half of another. However, he assumed a self-assured air as he
took the seat vacated by Célestin, while the artist replaced the jovial
Mouillot.
"Célestin has made his little pile!" laughed Albert.
"I? oh, no! I have made myself good, that's all!--Come, Balivan, to
return to your pretty neighbor,--do you want to bet my portrait that I
don't succeed in seducing her?"
"Yes. But let us understand each other: if I lose, I'll paint your
portrait for nothing."
"Just so."
"But if I win?"
"Then I'll pay you for the portrait."
"Indeed! what a generous youth! Where do I gain anything in that, I
wonder?"
"Messieurs," said Mouillot, "I'll bet something much more agreeable for
the company. I'll bet that I get the little neighbor to come down here."
"Ah! that's something like."
"You said that she lived overhead, Balivan?"
"Yes."
"Very good! just give me a hammer; I'll demolish the ceiling, and then
the fascinating grisette will fall through."
"Ha! ha! a famous method!"
Young Tobie, who had already lost his stake, and had taken money from
the pool to make up the second one, was no longer in the mood for
laughing.
"I say, messieurs," he cried, "just because you're not playing now, you
prevent other people from playing. Leave us in peace, will you? I have
lost a pile of money already. I keep making mistakes; I have _misty_,
and don't see it."
"Bah! a pile of money! he's lost his stake once."
"Besides, my dear fellow, a man can't expect luck in everything. You
have just come from a tête-à-tête in which a pretty woman has crowned
you with myrtle! you can afford to lose your money."
Tobie bit his lips in vexation and made no reply.
"And then, too, he pinched Crevette's leg!" laughed Mouillot.
"And he has a swollen nose," added Célestin. "The fellow is lucky on all
sides.--Some punch, messieurs?"
"With pleasure. I bet twenty francs."
"I take it," said Tobie.
"And I. Show down."
The hands were placed on the table. Monsieur Varinet, who had followed
Tobie, had _misty_; but the stout youth, who had three aces, pounced on
the money, thinking that he had won. His white-eyebrowed antagonist
checked him with the utmost coolness, saying:
"What are you doing? don't you see that I have _misty_?"
"And don't you see that I have three aces?"
"Your three aces amount to nothing, as we're not playing the _brelan_."
"Oh! mon Dieu! I had quite forgotten that; I never thought of it! It's a
mistake, messieurs; the hand ought to be thrown out."
"Not at all," said Albert; "you must pay attention; besides, you might
have won with your three aces, if you hadn't run against a _misty_.
Come, pay up, my dear fellow. Parbleu! you're not so badly off! you're
less than thirty francs to the bad."
"Thirty francs fifty, and now I've lost my stake again! This is very
fine!"
"Ingrate! after being so lucky in love, not to be willing to be unlucky
at play."
"I don't see the necessity of losing all the time."
"Think of Madame Plays, and complain if you dare!"
Young Tobie made a wry face every time Madame Plays was mentioned, and
he looked furtively at Albert, muttering between his teeth. After
feeling in all his pockets, he feigned an air of astonishment, saying:
"Well, well! I haven't any more money."
"You must have discovered that before," suggested Balivan, "as you have
already taken some from the pool."
"Ah! yes, of course.--Will you lend me three or four napoleons, Albert?"
"I would with the greatest pleasure," Albert replied; "but I am out more
than five hundred francs myself, and I have had to borrow. Put up a
fetich, that's the simplest way--put a sou, a key, anything you please,
in front of you, and call it worth any amount you choose."
"True, you are right; I'll put up a fetich."
Tobie felt in his pocket; he produced one of the olives he had stored
there at dinner, and placed it in front of him, saying:
"That stands for five hundred francs!"
The painter roared with laughter.
"Rather high-priced olives!" he said.
"I'm not surprised that he filled his pockets with them; he must have
taken at least ten thousand francs' worth," cried Mouillot. "Come, who
wants some punch? I'll fill the glasses. By the way, I don't see our
magnetizer. Where's Dupétrain? Has he gone?"
"Probably," said Balivan. "He never plays, and, seeing that there was no
hope of telling us his story, perhaps he has gone home to bed, to try to
put someone to sleep."
"What's your pretty neighbor's name?" inquired Célestin, stretching
himself out on a couch.
"My neighbor? Wait a minute--I go the limit."
"I take it," said Tobie, rolling his eyes about in a high state of
excitement. "I take all bets."
"All right."
Tobie showed a _misty_; but Balivan had a _brelan carré_.
"You told me just now that _brelans_ didn't count!" cried the little
fellow.
"True, except _brelans carrés_; they always beat everything."
"Well, then, I don't understand anything at all about it; it's enough to
drive a man mad! I don't know what I am playing."
"Come, pay me. You're very lucky, for I bet almost nothing--only
twenty-one francs."
"A man can ruin himself with such luck. Here, change this for me; it
stands for five hundred francs."
Tobie offered his olive; but Balivan shook his head.
"I haven't enough money to change it for you, you can see that for
yourself. You owe me twenty-one francs."
A few moments later, Tobie lost fifteen francs to Monsieur Varinet, who
had a heap of gold and silver in front of him. He offered him his
fetich, saying:
"Oblige me by giving me the change for this; it will make it easier for
me to pay."
Monsieur Varinet took the olive and placed it in front of him, and
handed four hundred francs in gold and eighty-five in silver to Tobie,
who seemed to take great pleasure in receiving the change for his olive,
and, while pretending to arrange it in piles, seized the opportunity to
slip several gold pieces into his pocket.
"You owe me twenty-one francs," said Balivan.
"Oh, yes! How the five hundred francs melts away! It will soon be gone."
"Oh! you have a good margin!"
"Isn't it time for us to give up our seats?"
"We don't go out next; it's Monsieur Varinet's turn and Albert's."
"Oh! I thought it was ours."
"Of course not, as we have just come in."
Tobie seemed very anxious now to leave the table; but he was obliged to
remain, while Célestin and Mouillot took the places occupied by Albert
and Varinet. The latter carefully bestowed the olive in his fob.
"I must make sure not to lose that," he said; "it's as good as a
banknote. If I should take it into my head to eat it, it would be rather
expensive."