dupe, while fancying that I am helping her to make a fool of Albert? She
wants to know everything that my rival does; if he acts as if he had
forgotten her, I give her that information, and she soon appears before
him, he finds her wherever he goes, and he does not hold out long
against the glances she fastens upon him. It seems to me that a woman
who was in love with Albert would act in that very way, and it would be
quite interesting if Madame Baldimer were amusing herself at my expense,
while I am thinking that it is Albert she wants to make a fool of!'"
"Ah! you have thought that, have you, monsieur? Upon my word, that would
be most original; and, to speak frankly, you deserve to be treated in
that way."
"How so, madame?"
"But don't be alarmed, it is not so at all. I am not in love with
Monsieur Albert. I, love him! on the contrary, I hate him!"
As she uttered these last words, Madame Baldimer's face glowed, and her
eyes seemed to flash fire.
"You hate him!" repeated Célestin, in a doubting tone. "Hm! that is
rather strange; a woman doesn't ordinarily hate a man who has never been
her lover. I should like it better if Albert were indifferent to you.
Indifference is further from love than hatred is."
"You may be perfectly sure, monsieur, that that young man's alleged
passion for me will never be satisfied. But it is my pleasure that it
shall not die out--on the contrary, that it shall become more and more
ardent. Whether it is coquetry, hatred, caprice, or some other
sentiment, that prompts my action--that is my secret, monsieur, and I do
not choose to tell you anything more. Now, if you do not care to assist
my designs any further, go, monsieur; it is useless for you to stay here
any longer."
The lovely widow rose as she spoke, but Célestin seized her arm and
forced her to resume her seat.
"Mon Dieu! madame, how quick you are! how prompt in forming your
resolutions! Be calm, I implore you! there is no rupture in our
relations; I am your slave, as always. Speak! command! I am at your
service. Too happy to wear your chains, as I hope that some day my love
will be crowned."
"Very good," rejoined Madame Baldimer, with a smile; "and now, answer
me. I have been away ten days; what has Albert done during that time?"
"Am I to conceal nothing?"
"That was our agreement, as you know."
"He has seen Madame Plays again."
"Madame Plays---- Ah! very good; I can guess why."
"That woman has been his mistress; and when a man returns to a former
mistress, it is very easy to guess why."
Madame Baldimer bestowed a glance on Célestin which signified: "You are
no better than a fool!" but she contented herself with that pantomime,
and said simply:
"What else?"
"He has called here several times to find out whether you had returned
from the country."
"I know that; my concierge told me."
"Your absence has seemed very long to him--especially as you didn't tell
him where you were going."
"Ah! he would have liked to know--and so would you, wouldn't you? But go
on."
"Why, that's all."
"What! no new intrigues, no escapades, no card parties?"
"No, nothing--for the last few days we have been so virtuous!"
"No husbands deceived, no rivals to dread?"
"Nothing of the sort. There was a wager on the subject of a very pretty
grisette, who is courted by a messenger; but Albert refused to go into
it. Indeed, the thing isn't so easy as I thought at first. This very
morning, I believed I had won my bet; my plans were carefully laid--the
girl ought to have stepped into a very clever trap that I had laid for
her. But, not at all; she avoided it! Those little grisettes sometimes
have the presumption to insist on being virtuous. We should be very much
to be pitied, if we hadn't the ladies of fashionable society to fall
back on."
"Ah! that's an unkind fling of yours; but beware; there are some great
flirts who may do as the grisettes do; one must not be sure of anything
in this world. Let us return to what you were saying: a very pretty
grisette, and a messenger for your rival. Do you know, that would be
very interesting! Messengers are not long-suffering, and they don't
stand by and allow their loves to be taken from them with the
complaisance and patience of the majority of our husbands in fashionable
society. You really must involve Albert in this intrigue. He must fall
in love with this grisette. If she is pretty, I see no great difficulty
about it; and you are so clever, Monsieur Célestin, surely you can bring
it about. Oh! it would be so amusing!"
Célestin was utterly unable to understand Madame Baldimer's purpose in
urging him to do his utmost to make Albert fall in love with a pretty
grisette.
"Well, monsieur, don't you hear me?" cried the fair American, irritated
by the young man's silence.
"Yes, madame; yes, I hear you perfectly. But I confess that I don't
understand you! and my brain is in a whirl when I try to divine your
object. You do all that you can to turn Albert's head. If he seems to be
a little less enamored of you, you redouble your fascinations and
coquetries to bring him to your feet; and, lo! you insist now that your
adorer shall fall in love with a pretty grisette, and scold me because
my friend is not involved in a lot of other intrigues! I say again, all
this is infernally hard to understand."
Madame Baldimer frowned, as she replied:
"But it isn't necessary that you should understand me, monsieur; it is
enough, it seems to me, that it is my wish."
"I am very sorry, madame, but you should not do so much to inflame
Albert's passion for yourself. He, who used to take fire at the mere
sight of a woman, is indifferent now to the loveliest; and it is your
fault."
"Really! Do you think that he loves me to that point?"
"I am afraid so, for his sake."
Madame Baldimer reflected a few moments, then rose, and said, with a
gracious smile:
"Adieu, Monsieur de Valnoir! our interview has been very long, and I
have nothing further to ask you."
"Shall I see you soon?"
"I think so; however, I will write, as before, when I have anything to
ask you. I do not need to remind you that Albert must not know that you
have seen me."
Célestin smiled and bowed, and stepped forward to take the fair
American's hand; but she had already vanished.
"A strange woman!" muttered Célestin, looking around the room in
surprise. "Gad! I have known a great many of them, but never one whose
heart was so difficult to decipher as hers. Never mind; she is very
beautiful, very refined, very fashionable, and it will be delicious to
whisk her away from my dear friend Albert."
Célestin left the lovely widow's abode, and repaired to the boulevard,
where he met Mouillot, who ran up to him, crying:
"Victory! he is ours! we have him, or at least we shall have him this
evening!"
"Whom are you talking about?"
"Parbleu! little Tobie, the man of the fetich."
"The deuce! who found him?"
"Bastringuette, apparently; for she just left a message with a waiter at
Tortoni's, who repeated it to me not a minute ago, that the young man we
want will be at the Pâté des Italiens this evening."
"Ah! that is delicious; do the others know it?"
"No, as I have just learned of it. But I will undertake to tell Balivan,
and you must let Albert know. Let us all meet here to-night at eight.
Tobie is to be on Place des Italiens at nine, and we must meet earlier
than that."
"Very good; we will be there."
Bastringuette had, in fact, met Tobie the night before, quite late, on
an unfrequented street; it was dark, and Monsieur Pigeonnier was walking
very fast. But the flower girl had eyes which rivalled an eagle's, and
she had easily recognized the man she had been asked to find.
Since the game of bouillotte in Balivan's studio, little Tobie, who had
gone away with four hundred and fifty francs in his pocket, had not been
fortunate in his speculations; he had flattered himself that he would be
able to do a fine stroke of business with that money, to make some
advantageous purchase, and thereby to redeem his olive before long. But,
instead of that, a creditor, who had succeeded in finding him at home by
dint of passing the night at his door, had compelled him, by the use of
some exceedingly brutal arguments, to pay a long overdue note for three
hundred and eighty francs.
So that Tobie was not in a position to redeem his fetich, and that is
why he never appeared on the boulevards, why he shunned all the places
where he was likely to meet any of the witnesses of his transaction with
Varinet, and fled as soon as he caught sight of an acquaintance; for he
would have been forced to confess that he had not the wherewithal to
redeem his olive, which would have humiliated him beyond measure. If he
could gain time, he hoped to be able to move his aunt, Madame Abraham,
or at least to obtain an interest in some profitable transaction in
which his commission would be large enough to enable him to settle with
Varinet. Almost always, in unpleasant emergencies, we imagine that we
are saved, as soon as we succeed in gaining time; we are happy when we
have much of it to spend, and we do not reflect that time is life, the
only really valuable thing in this world; that one may regain fortune,
honors, the favors of a fair lady! but that a day lost can never be
recovered.
Hearing somebody running behind him in the street, little Tobie had a
fright; but he recovered his courage when he heard a woman's voice
calling:
"Why don't you stop, monsieur, when I say I want to speak to you?
_fichtre!_ if you make women run like this, they must have lots of fun
with you!"
Tobie stopped, scrutinized Bastringuette, and demanded:
"What do you want of me?"
"I don't want anything, my little darling; you're too dainty for me. I
don't like men with pink cheeks."
"Ah! I think I recognize you now; you're the girl who sells violets."
"When there is any, my little ducky."
"If you've been running after me to offer me flowers, you might have
saved yourself the trouble."
"No, it isn't for that; I have a message for you."
"Who gave it to you?"
"A lady, and a very pretty lady too."
"A lady--what's her name?"
"She didn't tell me; and you don't suppose I asked her, do you? but she
described you so that I couldn't make any mistake. She has something to
say to you, and she'll be at the Pâté on Place des Italiens to-morrow
night at nine o'clock."
"To-morrow night! at the Pâté!"
Tobie reflected for some time; he tried to think who the lady could be
who wished to see him; and at last he thought of Madame Plays, who had
left him so abruptly on the Champs-Élysées; perhaps she knew the whole
story of Albert's conduct now, and wished to revenge herself with him
for her lover's faithlessness, and to compensate him for the outburst of
temper to which she had given way when she left him.
"If Albert did write anything offensive in that letter," he thought,
"she has probably learned that I had nothing to do with it; she is sorry
that she treated me so badly, and means to treat me better now. I am
less surprised, because, when I was making love to her, she seemed to be
deeply touched; everything was going along finely, and, if it hadn't
occurred to her to read that infernal letter, I should certainly have
triumphed.--What sort of looking woman was it who gave you the message?"
he asked Bastringuette.
"Oh! a very fine-looking woman."
"A little large, wasn't she?"
"Yes, monsieur, she's plump; but it's becoming to her."
"Light chestnut hair?"
"Very light--almost a blonde."
"That's it. A voice something like a man's?"
"Oh! a splendid voice; when she speaks, you'd think it was a hand organ.
She ought to sing well, she had."
"There's no doubt about it--it was she!"
"Do you know who she is?"
"I think so; but I know so many of 'em, you see!"
"But you'll keep the appointment, won't you, monsieur?"
"Oh! to be sure!"
"So much the better; for it seems as if the lady was broiling to see
you.--'If I'd known his address,' she says, 'I'd have written to him;
but I don't know where he lives.'"
"That's true, she doesn't know it; and there are very few people who
could tell her; I don't talk much about my address."
"Good-night, monsieur! my errand's done, and I'm going home to bed.
Don't forget your appointment at the Pâté."
"Never fear."
Bastringuette turned on her heel, and Tobie did the same, saying to
himself:
"It seems that she's paid. I'm not sorry, I like that way better;" and
he went his way, building castles in Spain touching his liaison with the
susceptible Plays.
Célestin called on Albert at midday, and found him gazing at a
magnificent cashmere shawl that was spread out on a divan.
"What the devil are you doing?" inquired Monsieur de Valnoir.
"I am admiring this shawl, as you see; isn't it superb?"
"It is, indeed; but it seems as if I had seen it on somebody."
"You have seen its mate on Madame Plays."
"Ah! that's it. And what are you doing with this one? Are you in the way
of giving your mistresses cashmere shawls?"
"Why not! If you should see this shawl on the fair American's shoulders,
do you think that she would still laugh at my love?"
Célestin pressed his lips together, then replied:
"Oh, no! I should be compelled to believe, on the contrary, that you are
a fortunate mortal. But it must have been very expensive!"
"Five thousand francs!"
"The deuce! it's a present worthy of a prince; but I don't believe she
will accept it."
"And I am sure that she will."
"Has Madame Baldimer returned from the country?"
"Yes, last night; and look, do you see this little note?"
"By the perfume alone, I divine that it's from a woman."
"I have just received it; it's from the fair widow, and she expects me
at ten this evening."
"At ten o'clock; she makes appointments for rather a late hour."
"So much the better; I will try to prolong the interview, and not leave
her till to-morrow morning."
Célestin turned away to hide a grimace which he could not control; then
he replied, in a very vivacious tone:
"Pending your love rendezvous, will you meet us this evening, a little
before nine? We propose to nab Seigneur Pigeonnier, who thinks that a
lady is to meet him on Place des Italiens."
"Oh! I will be there, of course. Poor Tobie! we must have a little fun
at his expense; but afterward, if he can't pay, I'll lend him five
hundred francs, so that he can settle with Monsieur Varinet."
"The devil! You are a good fellow. Are you in funds?"
"My father is so kind to me! he gives me money without being asked."
"Parbleu! he has nobody left but you; it's right that he should satisfy
all your desires."
"But I have been spending too much money for some time past; I mean to
reform."
"Is that why you pay five thousand francs for a shawl?"
"This will be my last folly."
"And you propose to lend Tobie five hundred francs?"
"I am so happy! I would like to be able to oblige all my friends."
"If I had suspected that," thought Célestin, "I would have invented a
story to make him anxious to oblige me too.--Shall we dine together
to-day?" he said aloud.
"It is impossible. I promised my father to dine with him. I have done it
so seldom lately that he looks on it as a great favor, and he's too kind
to me for me not to try to please him."
"You are becoming a model of filial respect!"
"Célestin," exclaimed Albert, in a very sharp tone, "I allow you to joke
about whatever you choose, except my affection for my father; that is a
sentiment which must be respected. It seems to me that it would be very
unfortunate if there were nothing left in the world to respect."
"Oh! mon Dieu! don't lose your temper! I had no such purpose as you
imagine. Until this evening! we shall expect you at the usual place."
It was not quite nine o'clock, but it had been dark for some time when
the young men left Tortoni's café and bent their steps toward Place des
Italiens. They had just started, when Mouillot said:
"One moment, messieurs! we have forgotten something. Here, take this."
And he gave each of his friends an olive.
"An olive!"
"What's this for?"
"Why, can't you guess? We are going to watch for Tobie, one at each
corner of the square; and as soon as we see him, we will all descend on
him, each presenting our olive and demanding five hundred francs."
"Very good! splendid!"
"Poor Tobie! This experience will be enough to disgust him with olives,
and I'll bet that he won't stuff his pockets with them again when he
dines out."
They soon reached Place des Italiens, where they separated, each going
to one corner. They agreed that, when Tobie appeared, they would wait
until he reached the middle of the square, and then advance upon him at
the same time, so that the four olives, accompanied by as many demands
for five hundred francs, might be presented simultaneously.
Five minutes passed. Tobie did not appear. Five more minutes passed. The
young men coughed loudly from time to time, as if to assure one another
that they were still there. To while away the time, Albert thought of
Madame Baldimer, whom he was to call upon very soon. He enjoyed in
anticipation the pleasure he was about to afford her by presenting her
with that shawl, which she coveted, and he hoped that his gallantry
would be lovingly rewarded.
Célestin also thought about his relations with the lovely widow, saying
to himself from time to time:
"Tobie will not come! he probably suspected something, or was afraid. We
shall lose our olives."
Mouillot stamped impatiently, muttering:
"This is getting to be an infernal bore. I believe it's going to rain,
too. The sell is on us, after all! Sacrebleu! messieurs! I say there! do
you like this? For my part, I've had about enough."
Balivan was engrossed by the portrait of a woman which he was soon to
begin, and he was wondering whether he would paint it against a dark or
a light background, in a salon or in a garden.
Several more minutes passed. A very fine rain began to fall. Albert,
Célestin, and Mouillot were about to desert their posts, when shouts of:
"Murder! police! help!" arose in the middle of the square.
The three young men ran toward the place from which the cries came, and
found Balivan holding a short man by the arm.
"It's no use for you to yell," he was saying; "you owe me five hundred
francs for this olive!"
"What in the devil are you doing, you fool?" cried Mouillot; "let the
gentleman alone, will you! It isn't Tobie!"
The man whom Balivan had seized was a respectable bourgeois, who was
loitering about in front of the Opéra-Comique, intending to buy a check
and see the last play.
Balivan confounded himself in apologies. But the bourgeois, who had had
a horrible fright, continued to shout. The soldiers who were on guard at
the theatre came up, with several policemen, and a crowd soon assembled.
The young men were surrounded, and the man whom Balivan had attacked
pointed them out to the soldiers, saying in a voice rendered almost
inaudible by terror:
"Arrest those four men. They're all thieves; they tried to rob me of
five hundred francs, and I had only forty sous about me! This one
threatened me; he tried to murder me with an olive. Arrest all four."
The young men tried to explain to the soldiers that it was all the
result of a jest. But the officers took them away, saying:
"You may explain at the station."
"That miserable Tobie!" muttered Mouillot; "a nice mess he's got us into
with his olives!"
"And my appointment!" thought Albert. "God grant they don't keep us
long!"
"It is all Balivan's fault," said Célestin. "With his absent-mindedness,
he was perfectly certain to make some blunder."
As for the young artist, he stalked along in the middle of the crowd,
thinking:
"Yes, I will paint her with a country scene for a background."
XIX
THE QUARREL AND THE RECONCILIATION
On the day following that on which Elina had asked the messengers about
Paul, he returned to his place with his _crochets_, wearing his jacket
and cap; but his face was noticeably paler, his features more drawn,
than before his prolonged absence.
The young messenger seated himself in his usual place, nodding to
Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle, who were there before him. The former
abruptly turned his head away when he saw Paul, and clenched his fists
with an angry gesture; but Jean Ficelle, on the contrary, assumed his
playful expression and walked to Paul's side.
"Hallo! hallo! here's the prodigal son back again! Yes, it's him, sure
enough. Is it possible, Paul, that you've come back to sit alongside of
us on a street corner? are you going to be a messenger?"
"I have never ceased to be one," replied Paul, looking earnestly at the
house in which Elina worked.
"That's a good one! How about the time we met you dressed like a swell?
I don't think you was doing errands much just then! You was on a spree,
you know, and it seems to have lasted a long while! Ten days of it! Gad!
that's a whole carnival, sure enough!"
"You are mistaken; I haven't been on a spree; you know perfectly well
that it's not my custom."
"Not with us, that's true; but you play the nobleman with your
mistresses, it seems. Oh! I can understand that when a man's been doing
the handsome thing by his girl for ten days, he don't feel inclined to
treat his friends to a glass. And then, you have so many girls at once!
Ha! ha! you're a Don Jean, as they say in fashionable society. But you
must take care that you don't get robbed yourself. Bless me! those
things happen to everybody."
Paul shrugged his shoulders, and made no further reply to Jean Ficelle;
but he went to Sans-Cravate, whose back was still turned to him, and put
his hand on his shoulder.
"Are you still angry with me?" he said. "Well, Sans-Cravate, you are all
wrong; yes, you are wrong, for I have done nothing to make you angry. I
love you still, for all your roughness and your hot temper, because I
know that you have a good heart. I never gave you bad advice, and it
seems to me that I deserve your confidence; but you prefer to listen to
those who take you to the wine shop, with such people as that
Laboussole."
Sans-Cravate turned his head little by little; at first, he was
determined to pick a quarrel with Paul; but, as he listened to him, he
felt that his anger subsided, in spite of himself; and when he looked
at him, when he saw his gentle, honest eyes looking into his, he could
not control his emotion, his genuine affection for his young comrade
stirred anew in the depths of his heart.
Paul divined what was taking place in Sans-Cravate's heart, and he held
out his hand, saying:
"Oh! I know well enough that you are not a bad fellow! You cannot
believe that I am Bastringuette's lover, since you know that I am in
love with the young dressmaker who works in the house opposite--Mademoiselle
Elina. And even if I weren't, as if I could ever give a thought to my
friend's mistress! Somebody has spoken ill of me to you, and you
listened because you had drunk a little too much; but now that you are
cool, you must see that that was all nonsense. Come, give me your hand,
and let us forget the past!"
Sans-Cravate put out his hand to grasp Paul's, but drew it back again,
crying:
"Yes, _sacrédié!_ it makes me unhappy to be at odds with you. I liked
you, and I feel that I'd be glad to like you still. But it ain't a
question of what anybody's told me about you, but of what I've seen with
my own eyes. You say that you have nothing to do with Bastringuette,
that you don't go with her; prove it, and I'm your friend. It ain't that
I still care about Bastringuette, or want to make up with her; oh!
there's no danger of that! but I just want to be sure that my friend
hasn't gone back on me--played a trick on me, as they say; that's all."
"What do you want me to do? How can I prove it, if my word isn't
enough?"
"Oh! it's easy enough: that day we met you dressed like a gentleman, on
the corner of Rue Barbette, you came out of a house on Vieille Rue du
Temple. Bastringuette came out of the same house a few minutes after
you; I saw her--do you hear! You say that you wasn't with her; that may
be, although it looks bad! To clear the thing up, just you tell me who
you'd been to see--where you'd been in that house. It will be easy for
me to go and find out whether you're telling the truth; it won't take me
long to walk there. Come, tell me; and if there hasn't been any fooling
with my false wench, why, then I'll come back and open my arms to you;
I'll beg your pardon, and hug you till I stifle you!"
Sans-Cravate's eyes were wet; it was clear that his most earnest desire
was to be able to call Paul his friend once more, and he waited
anxiously for his reply. But Paul hung his head, his face became
serious, and he dropped the hand he was holding out to his comrade.
"I am sorry that I cannot satisfy you," he said; "but I cannot tell you
what you ask. I tell you again that it was not Bastringuette whom I went
to see in that house; if she did go there, it was probably a mere
coincidence; but it is certain that she was no more looking for me than
I was looking for her."
Jean Ficelle, who had softly drawn near and waited with manifest
curiosity for Paul's reply, began to whistle the air of: _Go and see if
they're coming, Jean, go and see if they're coming._