for I trust that the proverb will come true in my case as in Tobie's,
and then I shall be lucky in love to-morrow! Ah! how I wish it were
to-morrow! and it's only half-past twelve."
"Half-past twelve!" cried Tobie. "Mon Dieu! I said nothing to my
concierge, and I'm horribly afraid I shan't be able to get in."
"You can pass the night here."
"Sleep away from home! No, indeed! Besides, I have an appointment at my
rooms early to-morrow; and when I don't get a few hours' sleep, I'm
always sick a week."
"What in the devil's the use of such a man as that!" said Mouillot; "for
my part, I always sit up as long as anyone wants, I drink as much as
anyone, and I make love as much as anyone; and I'm always well!"
Albert was walking about the studio; he paused in front of the different
portraits of women, and said:
"What lucky dogs these painters are! When they have a pretty woman for a
model, they have a right to look at her as often and as long as they
please; to order her to smile; and to put her in whatever position they
like best!"
"It's a very voluptuous profession!" said Tobie, glancing constantly at
Balivan's watch, which had been placed on the table in order to regulate
the coming-in and going-out of the different players.
"Well, messieurs, it seems to me your game is rather slow," said
Varinet, walking up to the table.
"Parbleu! Tobie keeps passing with superb hands," cried Balivan. "It
would seem that he doesn't want to resort to another olive."
"I am waiting for a lucky streak. Ah! now it's time for us to go out."
Pigeonnier hastily left his seat, and Balivan was obliged to do the
same, but he did it unwillingly.
"We had at least half a minute more to stay," he said. "Tobie left too
soon."
"Quarter to one!" cried the stout youth, with a glance at the clock.
"Mon Dieu! Madame Pluchonneau, my concierge, is very hard of hearing."
Balivan seized Tobie's arm as he was edging toward the door while making
a pretence of examining the pictures, and led him back to the punch
table.
"Come and have a drink," he said.
"But I've drunk a great deal already."
"All the more reason. Will you smoke?"
"Yes, with pleasure, if you'll get me one of your foreign pipes."
"They're right here; I don't need to leave the studio; wait a moment,
and I'll fill one for you."
Tobie, who had hoped that the painter would leave him, and had proposed
to seize the opportunity to steal away unperceived, was obliged to
remain; and he wandered about the studio with a very preoccupied air.
"There, smoke that, and tell me what you think of it," said the painter,
offering the young man a narghile of enormous length. "That was Ali
Pacha's pipe."
"The devil! suppose my smoking it should make me a savage beast like
him! Never mind, I'll take the risk. But how am I to light it? it isn't
at all easy, the bowl's so far away."
"You put a candle on the floor, and then hold the pipe to it."
"All right."
Tobie took one of the candles from the card table, and put it on the
floor.
"I beg pardon, messieurs," he said; "but I want it to light Ali Pacha's
pipe."
He had no sooner put the bowl of the pipe, the stem of which he held in
his mouth, to the flame of the candle, than there was a loud report,
like a pistol-shot, the pipe bowl burst, the candle was tipped over, a
dense smoke filled the studio, fragments of pipe flew in all directions,
and Tobie narrowly missed swallowing a piece of the stem, which stuck in
his throat an instant after the report.
He fell backward to the floor. Everybody was dismayed for a moment, but,
after the first fright, roars of laughter arose on all sides, except
from the direction of Tobie, who was still gagged, as it were, by the
fragment of pipe stem.
"What infernal kind of tobacco is that?" cried Mouillot.
"Balivan must have had a fit of abstraction," said Albert.
The artist put his hand to his head, and looked in the drawer from which
he had taken what he supposed to be tobacco.
"Great God!" he exclaimed. "I see what the trouble is. My infernal
pupils insisted on making cartridges this morning for a rifle I wanted
to try; one of those that load at the breech. I didn't notice that I was
taking powder instead of tobacco. Poor Tobie! I am terribly distressed.
Well, well! what in the devil's the matter with him?"
Tobie could not speak, but he pointed to his mouth, which was wide open,
and made up a pitiful face. They went hastily to his assistance, and
with a small pair of pincers removed the piece of stem which had stuck
between his tongue and his windpipe, like the sound-post of a violin.
"_Sacrédié!_" ejaculated Tobie, as soon as he could speak; "what an
outrage! to give me a pipe filled with powder! That's a mighty poor
joke, messieurs! it might have killed me! I think very highly of Ali
Pacha's narghile!"
Balivan had much difficulty in pacifying the little man, and making him
understand that when he filled the pipe he was thinking of something
else, which prevented his noticing what he filled it with. Tobie was
beginning to recover from his fright, and the game of bouillotte was in
progress once more, when shrill cries were heard in the direction of the
kitchen, and Balivan recognized his maid-servant's voice.
"Has Crevette also been trying to smoke one of Ali Pacha's pipes?" said
Mouillot.
"Let us go and see what the trouble is!"
"Let us hasten to succor the Burgundian!"
All the young men hurried after Balivan, Tobie alone excepted; he took
advantage of the confusion to leave the house, overjoyed to carry away
the change for his olive.
Meanwhile, the painter had reached the kitchen, where he found no one;
thence he passed into a small, dark room, where his servant slept, and
there he discovered Mademoiselle Crevette, with no other clothing than
the one garment which Englishwomen blush to name, holding the magnetizer
Dupétrain down on the floor, and pounding him vigorously with her fist,
shouting the while:
"Ah! you villain! just look at this joker! My faith! that was a fine
idea of his! to come into my room while I was asleep, to do--I don't
know what! Luckily, I was only asleep with one eye, and I stopped him
just when he'd made up his mind I was too warm, I suppose, for he was
pulling off my bedclothes."
They succeeded, not without difficulty, in rescuing Dupétrain from the
Burgundian, who would have liked to go on beating him; but when she
realized that she was standing before all those young men in her
chemise, she suddenly jumped back toward her bed; being, however, a
little heavy for gymnastic exercises, she fell sidewise on the mattress,
thus exposing the roundest part of her person to the assembled company.
"Bravo! magnificent!" they exclaimed, clapping their hands. "Come,
Crevette, just one more jump! you do it so well! What a full moon! We
shall have a fine day to-morrow!"
The Burgundian was furious; she seized her pitcher and held it up in the
air.
"If you don't clear out of my room, I'll throw it at your heads!"
Balivan, who knew that she was quite capable of doing what she
threatened, succeeded in pushing them all out of the room, and they
returned to the studio.
"Aha! Monsieur Dupétrain," said Mouillot, "you are a sad rake, it
seems."
"That's a very neat trick," said the painter; "we thought you had gone
home, and you had stolen into my servant's room!"
"He wanted to magnetize her, no doubt."
"Messieurs," said Dupétrain, decidedly embarrassed, "I swear to you that
this is nothing of any consequence, and that the Burgundian rustic
misapprehended my intentions. For what did I propose to do? simply make
an experiment in magnetism on that dull, brutish temperament. I said to
myself: 'If I can succeed in putting that countrywoman into a trance,
what an extraordinary proof it will be of the power of my art!'"
"Yes; and he took off Crevette's bedclothes, so that he could see that
dull temperament."
"Messieurs, to put myself in communication with a subject, it is
necessary----"
"Enough! we don't want to hear any more. To the card table!"
"Why! someone is missing," said Mouillot.
"That's so. Tobie isn't here. Can he have gone away? It isn't possible."
They searched the studio, thinking that he had hidden, to play a trick
on them; but they found that he had really gone.
"Oh! he'd been itching to go for a long while," said Balivan.
"Yes, ever since he changed his fetich."
"That's a very convenient dodge," observed Mouillot; "he had at least
four hundred and fifty francs left of the change for his olive, and he's
gone off with it.--Varinet, you have a fetich of very doubtful value."
Varinet calmly wrapped the olive in a piece of paper and put it back in
his pocket.
"Do you think that that young man is capable of leaving this pledge in
my hands?" he said. "I believe that he will come to my house to redeem
it."
"Oh! he'll redeem it," said Albert; "I have no doubt of that."
But Célestin shook his head.
"Perhaps he will," he murmured; "but he's quite capable of forgetting
his debt, and I fancy you'll have to remind him of it. Don't lose your
fetich."
"For my part," said Mouillot, "I wouldn't give three francs for that
olive."
The young men resumed their game, after saying good-night to Dupétrain,
whom Balivan escorted to the landing, to make sure that he did not
mistake his road and return to make another attempt to put his servant
in a trance.
For an hour longer, the game was very brisk. At the end of that time,
Albert, who had lost twelve hundred francs, threw himself on the couch,
saying:
"I've had enough, messieurs; I am going to sleep here till daylight."
The other four young men continued the game for some time. At last,
Célestin, who had won largely and had no desire to lose what he had won,
pretended that he too was sleepy, and lay down on the divan. Mouillot,
Balivan, and Varinet played on for a considerable time, until Balivan,
having lost heavily, left the table, saying:
"I am going to bed."
"Now it's between us," said Mouillot to the young man with white
eyebrows; "a _brûlot_."
"What! can two play bouillotte?"
"Oh, yes! and it's very interesting. It's for the one whose turn it is
to bet, to speak; if he sees nothing in his hand, he puts in a chip, and
the other does the same. It's a game you can play a long while without
saying a word, as you pass very often."
Varinet consented to play; but Mouillot, who was decidedly lucky at
two-handed bouillotte, and who played a very shrewd game, soon won all
his opponent's money; Varinet had nothing left but the olive, and he
proposed to stake that; but Mouillot, who was not anxious to win it,
preferred to follow the example of the others and take a little nap. He
lay down beside Célestin on the divan.
The young man with white eyebrows reclined in an easy-chair, and soon
everybody was asleep in the artist's studio, where the most absolute
quiet had succeeded the noisy outbursts of merriment engendered by the
fumes of the punch.
X
THE LOFT
After the scene in the wine shop, the habitués had retired one after
another, Paul among the first; but before he went away, he had glanced
at Sans-Cravate with an expression which bore not the slightest trace of
ill humor for the latter's threats; on the contrary, it seemed to
suggest the hope that a hand would be offered as a sign of
reconciliation. Sans-Cravate apparently hesitated for a moment; but Jean
Ficelle whispered in his ear, and he turned away without a word to the
young messenger.
Paul slept very little that night; because he was thinking, not of what
had happened at the wine shop, but of what he had to do the next
morning. The thought that he was going to see Elina, that he was going
to pass some time with her, filled his heart with the keenest joy in
anticipation. The girl's face was constantly before his eyes; to think
about a woman whom one loves is much better than sleeping; waking dreams
are often very sweet; for one shapes them according to his own
pleasure; while those which come to us during our sleep are not always
rose-colored.
The clock had just struck half-past five, when Paul pulled the copper
bell knob of the house in which Elina lived with her aunt. Nobody
answered the bell, and the young man was obliged to ring twice more; for
the concierges of the Chaussée d'Antin do not rise so early as their
brethren of the Marais. The door was opened at last by an old fellow,
who passed his head, swathed in several cotton nightcaps, through a
little, round window, and asked in a wrathful tone:
"Who is it who has the effrontery to ring my bell at this time of day?
Who do you want to see? No one's up?"
"Excuse me, monsieur," said Paul; "I am going up to Mademoiselle
Elina's, to help her move; and she must be up, for she herself asked me
to come at half-past five."
"Bah! this is interesting!" snarled the concierge. "Some of 'em are up
at daybreak, others don't go to bed at all, but pass the night playing
cards and raising the devil! It was outrageous, the way they acted last
night; the noise they made in that dauber's studio. I wonder when
they'll turn that fellow out of the house."
Paul did not stay to listen to the concierge's reflections; he had
already started upstairs, and he soon reached the door of Madame
Vardeine's apartment. He coughed softly, and the door was opened at
once, for Elina was already up and waiting for him; perhaps, indeed, she
had slept no more than he.
If, gentle reader, you are surprised that a young and pretty dressmaker
should have a tender feeling for a mere messenger, you must remember
that in Paul's manners and language there was none of the coarseness
generally characteristic of those of his calling; that he had received a
good education, through the kindness of a generous benefactor; that he
had performed the duties of clerk for a considerable time; and, lastly,
that, although circumstances had forced him to resort to the _crochets_
of a messenger, he had not chosen to adopt the habits of his confrères:
that he did not frequent wine shops, to which his visit of the previous
evening was his first, and that his language was still as refined and
agreeable as his voice.
"Here I am, mademoiselle," said Paul, saluting the young woman awkwardly
enough; for nothing makes a man so awkward as a first love, especially a
man who does not make a business of seduction. It is not so with women:
love almost always makes them more charming and attractive; by
augmenting their desire to please, it heightens the charms they already
possess and sometimes gives them others which had not previously been
detected in them. "I have come too early, perhaps; did I wake you?"
"Oh, no! Monsieur Paul," the girl replied, with a pleasant smile. "I
have been awake a long time, and was waiting for you. Come in, but don't
make any noise, for my aunt is still asleep, and I should be very glad
if she could find everything done when she wakes."
The messenger followed Elina into the apartment, and she showed him the
little room which she occupied.
"That's all the furniture I have," she said; "a cot-bed, a walnut
wardrobe, this little desk, and a chair; but I'm afraid it's too much
for a loft. However, I should like to get it all in, if I could; for the
wardrobe was my mother's and the little desk my father's, and with those
two pieces it seems to me as if I wasn't quite an orphan--as if papa
and mamma were still here looking out for me. I think one is so
fortunate to have something that used to belong to one's parents. Why, I
wouldn't sell those two things for all the gold in the world! And yet,
they're old and out of fashion; my aunt said once that the wardrobe
wasn't good for anything but firewood. Oh! I was terribly angry that
day! and my aunt has never said that again. Burn this wardrobe, in which
my mother kept her dresses and all her clothes, and this desk that my
father wrote on every day--never! never! And even if I should ever be
rich, I should think just as much of them, and I would never part with
them."
Tears stood in Elina's eyes when she finished. Paul looked at her with
emotion, lovingly; she seemed to him prettier than ever, for laudable
sentiments have a way of embellishing those who are inspired by them,
whereas evil sentiments change and distort the prettiest face. Women do
not regard their own interests when they are angry, sulky, or jealous.
"You are quite right, mademoiselle," said Paul, with a sigh; "you must
be very happy to have something that comes from your parents."
"Have you lost yours, Monsieur Paul?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"A long while ago?"
"Yes."
"Didn't they leave you anything that had belonged to them?"
"No, mademoiselle--nothing."
"Mon Dieu! what an extraordinary resemblance there is between us! Both
orphans; both hardly knew our parents--we are in the same situation."
"Oh! no, mademoiselle; you are much more fortunate!"
"Yes, of course; because I have this wardrobe and this little desk."
Paul made no reply, but turned his head away and wiped his eyes.
"What a stupid creature I am!" cried Elina; "to talk of things that make
you sad! Come, let us go to work; we have none too much time. I have the
key of our new lodgings; it's the door on the opposite side of the
landing; I'll go and open it."
While the girl went to open the door, Paul took down the bed, being
careful to make as little noise as possible; then he began to move the
furniture into the new lodgings.
Elina pointed out a little loft, which was reached from a small, square
room.
"That's my bedroom," she said. "It seems that I shan't have any too much
light up there. However, my aunt says that one doesn't need to see in
order to go to bed."
"Your aunt is far from kind to you, mademoiselle; and yet she cannot
have any fault to find with you."
"Oh! Monsieur Paul, aunts don't think as one's--friends do. They always
find some reason for scolding. Wait; there's a ladder to climb up to my
new room; let me fix it firmly."
"Let me do that, mademoiselle."
The young man put the ladder in place and went up into the loft.
"Do you think it will hold all my furniture?" Elina called to him.
"Why, it's not so very small. But if you set up your bed, mademoiselle,
there won't be room for your wardrobe and desk."
"In that case, we won't set it up; I don't care anything about it--it's
my aunt's. I'd much rather sleep on the floor, and keep my father's and
mother's furniture."
"But you won't be comfortable if you sleep on the floor."
"I shall be all right. I am not hard to suit, and I am perfectly content
if my wardrobe and desk can be got in."
Paul did as she desired; he placed on the floor, in one corner of the
loft, the two mattresses that were on her bed; then he went back and
brought the walnut wardrobe and the little desk, and succeeded in
finding room for them in the young girl's new apartment; she, meanwhile,
remained at the foot of the ladder, clapping her hands and jumping for
joy when she found that the loft would hold the two objects to which she
was so much attached.
"They are all right," said Paul; "but, mademoiselle, there's no room for
anything else, not even a chair."
"Oh! I don't care. I don't need any chair up there; I can sit on my bed.
I must come up and see how you have arranged it."
And the pretty creature ran nimbly up the ladder into the loft,
forgetting that Paul was still there. It is very imprudent for a young
lady to be in a loft with a young man. It is much more dangerous when
the young man is good-looking, and one is already inclined to like him.
But Elina did not think of all that. Luckily for her, Paul was honorable
and shy. But the most virtuous heart may prove recreant when it is very
much in love. Paul's beat violently when the girl climbed the ladder and
entered that poor chamber, where it was not possible to stand upright.
He had squatted in a corner, in order not to take up too much room, and
he dared not stir.
"Oh! how nicely it's arranged!" exclaimed Elina, looking about; "there's
room for everything; I shall have everything right at hand. Oh! how
pleased I am!"
And the girl, forgetting that the place was very low, raised her head to
thank Paul; but she struck the ceiling, then stumbled, and fell on the
mattress with a little shriek.
Instantly Paul was on his knees by her side; he examined her head
anxiously, saying:
"Mon Dieu! you must have hurt yourself terribly. I ought to have warned
you. I will go and get some water, some liniment."
But Elina was smiling again, and she detained the young man.
"It is nothing," she said. "It made me dizzy, that's all; and that has
gone now. I shall get out of it with a bump on my forehead. Dear me! I
must accustom myself to my loft."
"Do let me fetch you something, mademoiselle."
"Why, no, I don't need anything, I tell you. Give me your hand."
She took Paul's hand and put it to her forehead.
"Can you feel anything?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; there'll be a swelling there."
"The girls will all laugh at me. I've heard that by pressing hard on the
place you can prevent a swelling. Will you press on it, Monsieur Paul?"
"I am afraid of hurting you."
"No, no. Please press; don't be afraid."
The young man trembled in every limb as he pressed his hand against
Elina's smooth, white forehead; her glossy fair hair was disarranged,
and several curls fluttered about Paul's hand, increasing his emotion to
such an extent that his hand suddenly slipped and rested on the girl's
heart instead of on her forehead. Elina made no objection; she had
forgotten all about the blow she had dealt herself. The heart almost
always acts as a _derivative_, to use a medical term: when it is well
occupied, one is conscious of no pain elsewhere.
Paul no longer knew what he was doing.
"Forgive me for loving you, mademoiselle," he faltered, in a trembling
voice; "I know that it is very presumptuous of me; I am not worthy of
you, for I am only a poor messenger; but my love is stronger than my
reason, it will last all my life. This confession has escaped me in
spite of myself. Pray don't be angry; I will never mention it again!"
Elina did not seem at all offended; her cheeks were crimson, and she
kept her eyes on the floor, as she faltered in her turn:
"I am not angry. It isn't a crime to love a person. Mon Dieu! Monsieur
Paul, even before you told me--I don't know why, but I had thought--I
had guessed that you loved me, and--and--it made me happy. I don't
forbid you to mention it to me--far from it!"
"Ah! mademoiselle, how good you are! and how happy I should be,
if--if----"
He dared not say: "If you loved me, too." But his eyes finished the
sentence. Elina, who understood him as well as if he had said the words,
replied artlessly:
"I thought that you had guessed, too."
Paul put her hands to his lips, and covered them with kisses.
"Ah! I am permitted to know the most perfect happiness!" he cried; "I
envy no man on earth. To be loved by you--I dare not believe it! The
thought will increase my courage tenfold. I will work harder than ever,
so that I can save money; and if I could offer you a comfortable
existence; if I could save enough to have a little home of our own;
if---- But, no, it is impossible; I can never hope for anything of the
kind."
Paul's face became sad once more, and he looked away from Elina. But she
took his hand and pressed it softly, saying:
"Well, well! why are you so sad, all of a sudden? I feel so happy! Do
you think that I am ambitious, pray, and that I won't be content with
whatever you can offer me? It is very bad of you to think that."
"No, mademoiselle; it isn't money that I am thinking of. I am very sure
that you are like me, and that you don't care about that. But it is--it
is---- Oh! mademoiselle, I will tell you everything, for I do not want
to deceive you; and no matter what it costs me to make the confession,
you shall know what I am; then you will see that I am not worthy of your
love."
"Mon Dieu! what do you mean? You frighten me! Have you done anything
wrong?"
"No, it's not that. But you said just now that our positions were the
same, because we are both orphans. That is not true, mademoiselle; you
have lost your parents, but you did know them; you know who they were,
you remember your father's kisses. But I have no idea who my parents
are. They may be living, but I do not know whether they are or not. They
cast me out, spurned me from their arms. In a word, I am a wretched
foundling."
"A foundling?"