found Mouillot there.
"Célestin and Balivan will be here directly," said the latter; "there's
nothing new; Bastringuette hasn't left any word at the café. Have you
had any better luck?"
"No, I haven't succeeded in discovering the slightest trace of the
quarry."
"Perhaps we shall be more fortunate to-morrow."
The next day brought no different result. On the fourth day, Balivan
came running into Tortoni's just after his friends.
"I've seen him," he cried, "on Rue de Bondy, near Porte Saint-Martin. I
recognized him perfectly, and I am certain he saw me, too, for he
turned purple and looked the other way."
"Well! you ran after him----"
"What did he say to you?"
"Did you take him to Varinet's?"
"Has he redeemed his olive?"
"Mon Dieu! my friends, I don't know how it happened; but I noticed at
that moment that my cigar was out, and I stepped into a tobacco shop
close by to get a light; it took only a minute, but when I returned to
the street I looked in every direction--all in vain; I couldn't find
Tobie again!"
"The devil take you!"
"Oh! that's just like Balivan! He catches sight of the man we've been
hunting for four days, and, instead of grabbing him, he goes into a shop
to light his cigar!"
"You ought to take yourself for your model! you'll never find such
another."
"Faith! messieurs, I think perhaps you'd have done the same, if you had
been in my place. An excellent pure Havana cigar! A fellow can't afford
to let it get cold; it's like coffee, it must be taken hot. However,
we're sure now that Tobie's in Paris, that's something."
"Why, who ever doubted it? But you won't be the one to make him pay
Varinet."
The young men separated, a little discouraged. Two days later, Albert
had made no further progress, and he knew that Madame Baldimer might
return from the country at any moment. Being determined, however, to
purchase the shawl she had praised so extravagantly, before she should
return, Albert decided to call upon Madame Plays and brave her
indignation.
Having made up his mind, he bent his steps toward her abode; but he took
care to purchase a lovely bouquet en route; we must always be gallant,
especially with a woman who has had a weakness for us.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon; that was the time of day when the
superb Herminie held court in her boudoir and gave audience to those
favored mortals who were privileged to enter that mysterious sanctuary.
Albert, who could fairly say: "Having been brought up in the harem, I
know all its nooks and corners," passed the concierge, with his head in
the air, walked directly to a small private staircase, went up to the
first floor, stopped in front of a door, and knocked almost like a
Freemason.
In a few seconds the door opened, and a lady's-maid, whose face was
exceedingly ugly, but much more intellectual than her mistress's,
uttered a cry of surprise when she saw Albert.
"Oh! monsieur," she said, "it's a long while since we've seen you here!"
"That is true, Lisa; I have been unable to come these last few days. But
tell me, is your mistress visible? May I pay my respects to her?"
The lady's-maid smiled faintly, as she replied:
"It is impossible, monsieur. Madame has the vapors; she cannot receive
you."
"She can't receive me--me?"
"You, monsieur."
"But she never used to have the vapors for me."
"_Dame!_ monsieur, she has them now."
"Very well; I understand, Lisa; this means that your mistress doesn't
choose to receive me, and so she has given these orders."
The maid dared not admit that that was the truth; but she smiled, and
put her finger to her lips. Albert was too well-bred to disregard such
an order; he too laughed as his eye met the lady's-maid's, and he turned
on his heel, saying with a tragicomic air:
"I have deserved my fate, and must submit to it."
But as he was about to leave the courtyard, he paused.
"Suppose I pay the husband a visit?" he said to himself. "Parbleu! I'll
do it; he's just the boy to reconcile his wife and me, or at least to be
of great service to me in this emergency. Let's see dear Monsieur
Plays."
Albert took the main staircase this time; he asked a footman if Monsieur
Plays was at his desk, and, receiving an affirmative reply, entered the
merchant's office.
XVII
MONSIEUR PLAYS
The superb Herminie's husband was a little man, of middle age, neither
handsome nor ugly, with a very red, babyish face, round eyes, wide open
and prominent, red lips always wreathed in smiles; in a word, what might
be called a happy face; and happy he was to the last degree.
When he saw young Vermoncey enter his office, Monsieur Plays's face
assumed a curious expression; it was evident that he was embarrassed,
and did not know how he ought to receive his visitor. This reception in
no wise surprised Albert, for he knew that Monsieur Plays adapted his
ideas to his wife's on every subject; one was sure of a cordial welcome
from the husband, so long as he was in madame's good books; but as soon
as she looked coldly on anyone, or had trouble with one of her adorers,
the dear husband dared not be friendly to the person from whom madame
had withdrawn her favor. And as Monsieur Plays was one of those men who
would like to be on good terms with the whole world, his wife's caprices
sometimes caused him very great embarrassment.
"Madame Plays has been giving me a horrible name to her husband,"
thought Albert, noticing the stiff manner in which the merchant greeted
him. And, determined to divert himself with the embarrassment of the
unfortunate husband who turned a cold shoulder to the young men who
ceased to pay court to his wife, he went up to Monsieur Plays, grasped
his hand just as he was about to withdraw it, and shook it violently.
"Good-morning, my dear Monsieur Plays!" he cried. "I am delighted to
find you. I have been meaning for a long time to come to see you. But
time passes so quickly! This is the first moment I have been able to
find for a week."
Monsieur Plays did not know what reply to make; he bowed, took his pen
out of his mouth and put it back again, glanced timidly about the room,
as if he feared that his wife would appear, and stammered at last:
"Monsieur Albert--certainly--very well--and you---- You are very kind.
But, you see, I am working just now--I am doing something----"
Albert pretended not to understand the lack of cordiality in that reply;
he threw himself into an easy-chair, and continued:
"And the pleasures, Monsieur Plays, how do the pleasures, the little
love affairs, come on, eh? Aha! it seems that you're a great lover of
the sex, but you keep it dark! Oh! you have made many conquests, they
say; I've heard of you in the foyer at the Opéra--yes, and in the wings
too."
The merchant, who was highly flattered to be looked upon as a rake,
smiled and rubbed his hands as he replied:
"No, really! you have heard of me at the Opéra?--and in the wings? But I
have never been there; Madame Plays wouldn't allow it."
"I believe you, and she is right. But one may know some of these
theatrical ladies without going there."
"No, no, I assure you! But, wait; I believe that a lady did ask me one
day to pay a draft that had fifteen days to run, on the plea that she
had to take a little journey; but I believe she told me she was a
_marcheuse._"[L]
"You see! you acknowledge the corn, rake that you are!"
"What? Why, it never occurred to me that that lady was on the stage. She
said she was a _marcheuse_, and I understood that she liked to take long
walks."
"Oh! you joker! play the innocent, if you will; but you know perfectly
well that that's what they call the supernumeraries at the Opéra."
"I give you my word that I had no idea of it. What do you say? there are
_marcheuses_ there?"
"Yes, monsieur; and they are a very popular class of lorettes."
"Then there ought to be _trotteuses_[M] there, too."
"Ha! ha! you're a sad rascal, Monsieur Plays! And the best part of it is
that you conceal your game so perfectly."
Monsieur Plays roared with laughter; he was overjoyed to have discounted
a draft for a lady connected with the stage, who had mentioned him in
the wings. But he suddenly remembered that his wife had told him that
she would not receive Albert any more, that he was an exceedingly
ill-bred young man, who had been shockingly rude to her in society;
whereupon the poor husband became sober, repented of having laughed, and
muttered, with a piteous glance at Albert:
"I don't know why I am laughing, for I have a great deal to do. I have
some accounts to look over, and I am away behind. I have an endless
amount of work on hand."
Before the young man could reply, a small door leading from the office
to the private apartments was suddenly thrown open, and Madame Plays
appeared.
The robust Herminie was in morning dress, but there was always something
piquant, something seductive, in her costume as well as in her eyes. A
figured dress, very high in the neck, entirely concealed her charms, but
outlined them with an exactitude which produced a rather more startling
effect than nudity; two globes, possibly a little large, but very well
placed, proudly embellished her ample chest; a tightly laced waist and
very pronounced hips served as a pedestal to that bust; and her somewhat
dishevelled hair, with long corkscrew curls falling over her shoulders,
formed an attractive setting for Madame Plays's face, to which her
excitement and her angry glance, as she entered her husband's office,
gave much animation.
Herminie manifested no surprise when she saw Albert; it was evident that
she expected to find him there, but she hurled a glance at him with
which she apparently hoped to strike him to the earth. The young man
withstood that awful glance as coolly as if he were provided with a
lightning rod, and answered it with a low bow, while a faint smile
lurked about the corners of his mouth.
Monsieur Plays was terrified when his wife appeared; he thought that she
had heard him laughing with Albert, and he saw that she was angry; so he
could not decide what to do, and, in his embarrassment, chewed his pen
instead of simply holding it in his mouth.
"Ah! you have company, monsieur?" said Herminie, biting off her words,
and looking from Albert to her husband; "I am sorry to interrupt your
conversation, messieurs. Doubtless you have some very interesting things
to say to each other. If I had dreamed that Monsieur Vermoncey was here,
be sure that I should not have come."
"My dear love--we were saying--I don't know what. I didn't expect a
visit from----"
"I called upon you first, madame," Albert interposed; "but I was told
that you had the vapors, that I could not see you; so I came to ask your
husband about your health, as I was anxious about it."
"Yes," murmured Monsieur Plays, spitting out a piece of his pen, "yes,
Monsieur Albert came to----"
"Ah! so you are anxious about my health, monsieur! That is a surprise; I
should never have guessed it. Ha! ha! admirable! You amuse yourself at a
person's expense, you play a trick upon her--a shameful, outrageous jest
of a sort you wouldn't dare try with a grisette--and then, a week
afterward, you come here as if nothing had happened, with a cool, placid
air! Oh! it makes me ill, it sets my nerves on edge; I would like to
smash something!"
All this was emitted with remarkable volubility by the superb Herminie,
as she paced the floor in intense excitement. Her husband drew back when
she talked of smashing something, and faltered:
"I was busy working, going over my accounts, and----"
"All right, monsieur, all right! I don't ask you what you were doing.
Well! what are you eating now? what's that you are twisting about
between your teeth? Have you taken to chewing tobacco? that would be the
last straw!"
"No, my dear love; I was just sucking my pen--for amusement."
"That's an odd stick of candy," said Albert, laughing.
Even Herminie could not restrain a smile; but she instantly resumed her
wrathful expression, and turned her back to her husband to speak to
Albert:
"I shall never forget that abominable letter! I would never have
believed, monsieur, that you would write such things! It was in the
vilest taste!"
"On my honor, madame, I do not know what you mean; I am not aware of
having written a single word that could offend you."
"Oh! this is too much! to make such a statement as that! I am terribly
sorry that I destroyed the insolent letter, but I know it by heart."
Monsieur Plays had returned to his desk, and was mumbling between his
teeth:
"Five and six are eleven, and eight makes nineteen--and eight makes
nineteen----"
"And then, it was so idiotic: 'your face is constantly before me, calf's
head _en tortue_,'--isn't that very refined?--and--'I send you an
intimate friend--perfectly fresh.'--Ah! your friend was fresh, and no
mistake! Such a little fool! and how I treated him!"
"What you say perplexes me entirely. I cannot understand it. There must
be some mistake--you must have read some other letter."
"Oh, no! it was addressed to me all right!"
"Nineteen and twenty-four make forty-three; put down three and
carry--and carry----"
"Be quiet, Monsieur Plays; you are insufferable with your addition! What
do I care what you carry? Hold your tongue!"
Monsieur Plays subsided, with an air of consternation, nor did Albert
say anything more; but he produced the lovely bouquet, which he had thus
far held behind his back.
When Herminie saw it, her face softened, and it retained only a slight
pouting expression as she said:
"Ah! you have a bouquet."
"Yes, madame; I intended to offer it to you when I called, but I was not
fortunate enough to be admitted."
"It is very pretty."
Monsieur Plays walked timidly to Albert's side, and murmured:
"Your bouquet is charming; I was saying to myself: 'It smells very sweet
here, and it can't be me.'"
"Will you condescend to accept it, madame?"
"I ought not to, for I am sure that it wasn't intended for me; but I am
so fond of flowers! Well, give it to me."
She took the bouquet and held it to her nose.
"It is very sweet," she said; "it perfumes the whole room. But, no
matter; I detest you, I will never forgive you while I live, I forbid
you to come to my house any more."
"Oh! madame, the idea of bearing malice to such an extent as that! and
for what? for a misunderstanding, a blunder perhaps, but in which you
surely cannot believe that there was any intention to offend you. No,
you will not be so cruel--you will allow me to continue to call upon
you."
Herminie played with her bouquet without replying, but Monsieur Plays
said smilingly to Albert, in an undertone:
"She'll allow you to; I am sure that she doesn't bear you any ill will
now."
"Why do you interfere, Monsieur Plays? I don't know what you mean by
meddling in my affairs! Keep quiet, I tell you again; this doesn't
concern you!"
Monsieur Plays set about cutting a quill.
"Besides, I don't like people who have so many whims," continued
Herminie, after a short pause. "If you pass a week without thinking of a
person, why shouldn't you pass months? To what motive do I owe
monsieur's call to-day?"
"I had a motive, madame," Albert replied, with a smile; "I have heard a
great deal of a cashmere shawl which you wore at Count Dahlborne's
reception; it is a marvel of beauty, it seems, and I have heard it
extolled so highly that I am very desirous to see it. Will you not be
kind enough to show it to me?"
Herminie thought that Albert resorted to that pretext in order not to
make her husband jealous; for she was far from suspecting that the shawl
was really what had brought her fickle lover back to her. The idea
amused her, and she replied, with a laugh:
"Oho! so you came to see my cashmere! Well! I won't show it to you; if I
did, I should have to admit you to my boudoir, and I have sworn that
you shall never put your foot there again."
"But we swear so many things! A pretty woman's oaths are written on
sand, and the slightest breath effaces them."
"And what are men's oaths written on?"
"On brass.--Isn't it true, Monsieur Plays, that we men keep to our
oaths?"
"Why, yes; such things have been known. I myself, for instance, swore
that I would stop taking snuff when I married Madame Plays, because she
doesn't like to hear people sneeze: well, I have kept my oath; to be
sure, I still sneeze, but not so often."
While Monsieur Plays indulged in this reflection, his wife looked
fixedly at Albert, and there was in her eyes an animation, a flame,
which indicated something very different from anger. On his side, the
young man bestowed a very tender glance on her, and said:
"Come, don't be cross with me any more, but promise to show it to me."
"No; I should have to admit you to my boudoir."
"I am so anxious to see it."
"Indeed! you want to see it, do you?" said Herminie, with a sly smile.
Monsieur Plays moved about on his chair, saying:
"Come, my dear love, as it will give him pleasure, do show it to him.
Bless my soul, how good that bouquet smells!"
Herminie was touched; she smiled at the young man in a very significant
way, and held out her hand to him.
"Oh! I am too weak," she cried; "you abuse my weakness--ah! Dieu! Well,
give me your hand and escort me to my apartment. But I won't show it to
you, I tell you!"
Albert took the hand that Madame Plays offered him, and, with a bow to
her husband, left the room with her by the little door.
Monsieur Plays seemed overjoyed, and whispered in Albert's ear as he
passed:
"I know her; I promise you that she'll show it to you."
XVIII
A SECRET PACT.--THE PÂTÉ DES ITALIENS
It was only nine o'clock in the morning, and Célestin de Valnoir was
already ringing at Madame Baldimer's door. Rosa, her maid, answered the
bell, and smiled at the young man as if she were expecting him.
"This is a very early hour for me to call on your mistress," said
Célestin, assuming a presumptuous, self-sufficient air; "but I received
a note from Madame Baldimer last evening, in which she informed me of
her return to Paris and requested me to call this morning before nine;
and I am always prompt at a rendezvous with a lovely woman."
"Yes, monsieur; madame expects you, for she told me to admit you as soon
as you came."
"Madame Baldimer is still in bed, I suppose?"
"No, monsieur; madame got up early, because she expected you."
"Mon Dieu! that was no reason! I could have talked with her just as well
in bed--indeed, I should have preferred that. But, no matter, take me to
her."
The maid led Célestin through several rooms, and ushered him into her
mistress's presence. Madame Baldimer was seated in a reclining chair,
dressed in a velvet robe de chambre; her hair was dressed very simply
and kept in place on top of her head by a sort of net; plainly, she was
not yet dressed for the day, and was not at all anxious to make a
favorable impression. None the less, she was extremely pretty in that
négligé; but women are never more seductive than when we see them
unadorned except by their natural charms; it very rarely happens,
however, that they are willing to allow themselves to be seen in that
condition.
Madame Baldimer greeted Célestin with a faint smile, and said, pointing
to a chair near her own:
"You are on time; that is well done of you--I like that. Promptness is
so rare in this world. Pray be seated."
"You should be certain, madame, of the zeal with which I always comply
with your wishes; you are aware of my devotion to you; you know that
there is nothing I would not do to please you. Love even leads me to
betray friendship."
"Friendship!" echoed Madame Baldimer, and a sarcastic smile played about
her lips; "oh, no! you are not betraying that, I assure you. Have you
ever been Albert's friend?"
"To be sure, madame; we are very intimate."
"You men, when you have met once or twice at parties or dinners, when
your dispositions have seemed congenial, when you have laughed at a good
story told by someone you hardly know, instantly shake hands, adopt the
familiar form of address, and suddenly become as intimate as if you had
been thrown together for years; and you imagine that you have gained a
friend! But friendships formed so hastily are as hastily broken. They
are not proof against any passion: vanity, self-esteem, selfish
interests, love, soon put an end to the noble sentiments of which you
have made so great a parade, and you are often amazed to find that all
the annoyances, all the disappointments, all the vexations, you suffer
are the work of those whom you call your friends. It's not the same with
women, monsieur; they are not so free with their friendship as you are,
but when they do give it, when they become attached to another person of
their own sex, it is almost always for life."
"But it must be someone of their own sex!" laughed Célestin. "You admit
that, yourself."
"I believe, monsieur, that there are women who are capable of loving a
long time--yes, forever, the man who has shown himself worthy of their
love. But as they generally have to do with ungrateful wretches who make
a sport of seducing them, only to betray and abandon them, you must
agree that they would be very foolish not to punish men sometimes for
the wrong they so often do them."
"Mon Dieu! fair lady, I will agree to anything you please. I will say
that men are villains, monsters, whatever you choose, provided only that
you allow me to love you, and that you award me the prize due my
devotion and my passion."
Monsieur Célestin took possession of a hand with which the pretty widow
was toying with the folds of her gown, and attempted to put it to his
lips; but Madame Baldimer snatched it away, and said sharply:
"Stop that, monsieur, I beg; we have not yet reached the point at which
I owe you any recompense; and I am not the woman to pay in advance."
"But it seems to me that I have done all that we agreed upon. When I
first met you in society some months ago, I experienced, as many other
men did, the power of your charms; when I spoke to you of my love, you
said--and these are your very words, I have not forgotten them: 'You are
very intimate with young Albert Vermoncey, are you not? Well, keep me
informed of everything that young man does, promise to do everything for
me that I ask you to do, and I will reward your devotion.'--Isn't that
what you said?"
"Exactly; not a word changed. When I first met you, monsieur, young
Albert was already paying court to me; you very quickly joined the
ranks, which was quite natural; Albert was your friend, so you naturally
tried to supplant him. That sort of thing is always done among friends."
"But, madame----"
"Isn't that true, monsieur?"
"When love speaks louder than friendship----"
"Ha! ha! delicious! But, do you know, it was not worth while to
interrupt me to say that. I formed my judgment of you on the spot, and I
said to myself: 'I should like to amuse myself at the expense of young
Vermoncey; I propose that he shall be my victim, that he shall learn
that all women are not overjoyed to yield to him. Here's a gentleman who
will second my projects to perfection; he is an intimate friend of
Albert, and he is paying court to me because he sees that his friend is
very much in love with me; so that I may be certain that he will ask
nothing better than to assist me in setting snares for the man I propose
to make a fool of.'--Thereupon I made my propositions to you, and you
accepted them. And now, monsieur, it doesn't seem to me that you have
any reason to reproach me."
Célestin, who had listened to Madame Baldimer, biting his lips from time
to time with a dissatisfied air, leaned back in his chair and replied:
"But when is there to be an end of it all, madame? When will you cease
to torment poor Albert--and when will you reward my love?"
"Mon Dieu! monsieur, you are very inquisitive, in a very great hurry. I
cannot tell you yet."
"You see, I sometimes say to myself---- Excuse my frankness, madame."
"Oh! speak freely; frankness from you will astonish but not offend me."