tell me who you went to see--who it is you know in that house! It seems
to me there's no difficulty in doing that--and when a man ain't doing
something crooked, he don't make such a mystery about it."
"Probably I have reasons for acting as I do."
"And you won't tell me your reasons?"
"It is impossible!"
Sans-Cravate stamped the ground angrily, and uttered an energetic oath.
"All right, then; all's over between us; I don't know you any more; you
are no mate of mine; I forbid you to speak to me--do you hear? I forbid
you; and if you should ever come within range of my eyes, with
Bastringuette--not that I care a hang about her! I despise her! I hate
her!--but, never mind; if I should see you with her, look out! I shan't
always be patient, and you'd be likely to pass a bad quarter of an
hour."
Paul made no reply, but took his _crochets_ and carried them some fifty
yards away, toward the house where Elina worked; and there he took his
stand.
Jean Ficelle went up to Sans-Cravate, who pretended to look in the
direction of the boulevard, and said:
"You did well to give that sneak his walking ticket! What a fool he
looked when you asked him who he went to see; he couldn't answer.
_Pardi!_ I guess not; he'd have to own up that he'd done wrong. I'll
give you a comparison: it's just the same as if you saw me opening your
trunk, and you says: 'What are you looking in there for?' and I says: 'I
can't tell you what I'm looking for;' and you says: 'Tell me!' and
I----"
"All right! enough of that! you're never done with your comparisons, and
they don't amuse me."
"That's all right! Look here, I'm going to suggest something better. The
sight of your rival has put you in a bad humor--that's natural; if I had
someone in front of me as had turned my girl away from me, I wouldn't be
satisfied till I'd given him a good licking; that would be rather hard,
to be sure, as I don't happen to have any girl just now. As I was
saying, you're out of sorts, but you've got some chink. That fat woman
who's owed you a long while for moving her, and came and paid you this
morning--you didn't expect that, so it's just the same as money found;
and when you find money, you must spend it right away, or it'll bring
you bad luck! So, let's not work to-day; let's go and take something. I
know all the good places, you know; we'll just fold up our _crochets_
and enjoy our youth. How does that strike you?"
Sans-Cravate hesitated.
"Not work to-day," he muttered, "in the middle of the week, when
everybody's at work----"
"_Ouiche!_ everybody--who feels like it! I'll show you a lot of good
fellows to-day, who know how to enjoy themselves! Besides, can't a man
take a good dinner once in a while, and loaf a bit if he feels like it?
There's days when you can't help it. Anyway, it's getting late."
"Late! it's only half-past nine."
"Well, you see there's no business doing; we won't get anything to do
to-day; it's the dead season; no one's doing anything."
"Drinking ain't the way to save money to send a marriage portion to my
sister Liline."
"You've told me that your sister was pretty; and when a girl's pretty,
she don't need a marriage portion; and then, ain't there a lady at
Clermont who takes an interest in her, and has taken her into her family
and given her an education?"
"Yes, but----"
"Well, she'll find a husband for your sister, that's plain enough; so
you don't need to worry about her."
"Poor Liline! I'm very fond of her; she's so pretty and gentle--as
gentle as I am rough! I mean to go down into the country next spring,
and see my sister and my father; and perhaps I'll stay with them, for I
have nothing at all to keep me in Paris now."
Sans-Cravate sighed profoundly as he spoke, and his eyes scanned the
boulevards as if he were looking for someone.
"Well, that's all right; you can go home next spring, and I'll show you
out of the city; if you want, I'll wait for you at the barrier till you
come back; but at the present time, if you don't take a little pleasure,
you'll be as yellow and dry as parchment; you've changed already, you're
losing your fine color."
"Oh! I don't care about that now! there's nobody I want to please."
"Nobody knows! nobody knows! you mustn't get careless. A man ought to be
handsome all the time, as he's made to seduce; that's all I know. A
comparison: it's like a horse that's never curry-combed; his coat loses
all its gloss."
"It's sure enough that there's twelve francs here," said Sans-Cravate,
tapping his pocket, "that I didn't count on at all."
"We must squeeze 'em dry. You've got twelve francs and I've got fifteen
sous; we'll put 'em together, and spree it till they're dead! What do
you say?"
Sans-Cravate was still hesitating, when he turned and saw Paul with his
eyes fastened on him; thereupon he sprang to his feet and kicked his
_crochets_ aside, crying:
"Yes, yes! let's go and enjoy ourselves; to the devil with work! you're
right. And while that lasts, I shan't have to look at people I hate.
Let's be off, Jean Ficelle! No more work as long as the money holds
out!"
"Bravo! that's talking! I imagine I am listening to Solomon himself."
In another moment, Jean Ficelle had bestowed the _crochets_ in their
usual place, and the two messengers walked away arm in arm, Sans-Cravate
without looking at Paul, while Jean Ficelle, on the contrary,
ostentatiously cast a sneering glance at their young comrade.
"Poor Sans-Cravate!" said Paul to himself, when he saw the two men leave
their stand and their work; "he lets Jean Ficelle entice him away, and
perhaps he will end by becoming as much of a ne'er-do-well as his
companion!"
But the young man soon turned his eyes once more on the neighboring
porte cochère; he was sorely disappointed because Elina did not come
out, and wondered what she could think of him, when she had failed to
find him in his usual place for eleven days.
He kept his eyes fixed on the door of the house in which the little
dressmaker worked, almost every minute of the day; if he went away to do
an errand, his eyes turned instantly in that direction when he came
back; and he waited and waited, hoping that his love would come out; but
she did not appear.
At last the night came, and the hour at which the girls ceased their
labors, unless they were detained by some unusual press of work. Paul
had determined not to go away without seeing Elina, even if he had to
pass the whole evening in the street.
But just before nine o'clock, Elina came out at last, and, although it
was dark, her first glance was at Paul's usual stand; not seeing him
there, she quickened her pace, when she heard a well-known voice behind
her:
"How fast you go, mademoiselle!"
"Ah! is it you, Monsieur Paul? You almost frightened me; you see--I
am--I am not used to seeing you now, and I thought you were not here."
"I have been here since morning; I hoped you would come out for a
minute, but I had to wait until now. Ah! the day has seemed terribly
long to me."
"Really, monsieur; but for the last eleven days I have been expecting to
see you in your place. Every morning I came early, so as to have time to
talk a little with you; but, no, monsieur was never here. I was foolish
enough even to ask leave to go out during the day, thinking that you
would be there, but I took all those steps for nothing. Of course, I was
a great fool to think of--a person who wasn't thinking of me. When one
is thinking of anybody, he doesn't let eleven days go by without a
word."
Elina said all this very rapidly, as if she did not wish to give her
anger time to cool. Paul listened, walking by her side, and replied with
the accent that comes from the heart:
"Elina, can it be that you believe that I no longer love you?"
The girl slackened her pace, and her voice indicated that her anger had
already begun to subside, as she answered:
"Yes, monsieur; I do believe it--I am very sure of it. Not to come for
eleven days! not even to find some means to be there just for a moment,
to say a word to me. Oh! that was very cruel."
"Why, do you suppose, mademoiselle, that the time has not seemed long to
me? that I have not been miserable at being deprived of the happiness of
seeing you and hearing your voice; you, whom I love so dearly, and who
are in my thoughts every instant?"
Elina stopped altogether, and there was no trace of anger in her voice.
"Well, monsieur, if that is true, then what is the meaning of this long
absence? what became of you for eleven days? it seems to me as if they
were months!"
"Believe that some very powerful motive was necessary to keep me away
from you."
"A motive--that is no answer. Tell me, where have you been, what have
you been doing? I have been told that you are a very mysterious person,
that you have several occupations--is that true? No; for you would have
told me. I have been assured, also, that you had robbed your comrade
Sans-Cravate of his--his--mistress."
"Oh! surely you did not believe that either, did you, mademoiselle? I,
rob my comrade, my friend, of his mistress! for I am fond of
Sans-Cravate, although he has the reputation of being hot-headed and
quarrelsome. I have seen him give all he possessed, the proceeds of a
whole day's work, to a poor woman who went by with two children in her
arms, and dressed in rags. And the man who does that cannot be a bad
man. I, take away his mistress! Is such a thing possible?"
"Ah! that is what I said when I was told of it: 'Is such a thing
possible?' but they seemed to laugh at me because I refused to believe
it."
"Who?"
"Your comrades."
"Have you spoken to them?"
"Mon Dieu, yes! I ought not to have done it, but I couldn't contain
myself. When you didn't come, I said to myself that some accident must
have happened to you, or else you were sick. Oh! I was awfully unhappy."
This time the girl's voice trembled, not with anger, but with sobs; and
Paul, who was close beside her, took her hand and pressed it lovingly in
his own, saying:
"How happy I am! you still love me! Ah! this moment makes me forget all
my cares. To think that anyone should dare to say that I love any other
woman! You do not believe it, Elina, you will never believe it! Poor
messenger that I am, am I not fortunate enough to be loved by you? what
more could I desire?"
"Yes, I believe that you love me. I won't be angry any more; it makes
one too wretched to be angry with a person one loves. Look at me; I am
willing to see your face now. Oh! it seems to me that you have grown
paler, that you have changed, since I saw you. Have you been sick?"
"No; it's the vexation and disappointment I have suffered."
"You haven't told me yet what you were doing those eleven days."
"I have been with a person, a friend, who was very ill; he had nobody
but me to take care of him, so I could not leave him."
"Oh! in that case, I am not angry with you any more. But you never
mentioned this friend to me."
"Because I seldom see him--only when he needs me."
"You are not lying to me? you haven't taken anybody's mistress?"
"I have thought of nobody but you."
"Good! now I am happy again. I had so many things to tell you; but when
two people are together, they don't think--that is to say, they think
too much--well, I don't know how it happens, but I forget everything
else."
"Dear Elina!"
"Oh! wait--I remember now. First of all, there's a young man--one of
those who came and laughed at us, you remember, when we were in the
loft."
"Yes, indeed, I remember; but which one?"
"He's tall, but not handsome, and he has a bold, impertinent manner."
"I see which you mean; it must be Monsieur Célestin."
"Well, I noticed several times that he followed me when I came out of
Madame Dumanchon's at night, to go home; he walked very close to me, and
spoke to me, said a lot of foolish things, I don't know what, for I
didn't listen, I never once answered him, and I walked so fast, to avoid
hearing him, that I assure you he had to run to keep up with me.--'If
Monsieur Paul was here with me,' I said to myself, 'he wouldn't dare to
follow me, and I shouldn't be afraid of this horrid man.'"
"Poor Elina! did that fellow dare to insult you?"
"I don't know whether he did or not, for I didn't listen to him. Once he
tried to take my arm and stop me, but I released myself so quickly, and
pushed him away so hard, that he stood as if he was dazed, in the middle
of the street. Well, he didn't follow me any more, and I was very glad;
but this morning----"
"This morning?"
"One of your comrades--not Sans-Cravate, but the other one----"
"Jean Ficelle?"
"Yes. As I came down from my aunt's lodgings, I found him at the
door.--'Mademoiselle,' he said, 'my comrade Paul would like to speak to
you; he's waiting for you at a little restaurant close by, at the end of
the street; I'll show you the place.'"
"The villain!"
"That seemed very strange to me; however, as I had asked your comrades
about you yesterday, I believed that he had seen you, and that you had
asked him to give me that message. So I followed this Jean
Ficelle.--'Why don't Monsieur Paul come himself?' I asked him. 'What
prevents him? is he sick?' But the man only answered, in a sort of
wheedling tone: 'I don't know, mamzelle; but he asked me to tell you
that he must speak to you, and I'm just doing his errand.' At last we
arrived in front of a restaurant, and he said: 'This is the place; my
comrade's expecting you; go right in, don't be afraid, and ask for Paul;
and they'll take you where he is.'"
"Oh! what an infernal scoundrel that Jean Ficelle is! to second the
scheme of a man who intended to outrage you! So that is what he meant to
hint at this morning when he said that someone might rob me of the woman
I loved. And I was so far from suspecting it! I didn't pay the slightest
attention to his words.--But what happened next?"
"Well, I was about to go into the restaurant, when something, I don't
know what, held me back. The girls in the workroom have often talked
about places to which men had tried to entice them on one pretext or
another. I said to myself: 'If Monsieur Paul is in here, it seems to me
that it will be enough for me to send him word that I am here, and he
will come out.' Jean Ficelle had disappeared, so I waited till a waiter
passed the door, and said to him: 'Be kind enough to tell Monsieur Paul
that I am waiting for him down here.' The waiter laughed, and told me I
must go upstairs; but when he saw that I insisted on staying in the
street, he said he would take my message; and in a moment I saw the same
young man coming who had followed me so often. When I saw him, I cried
out; he tried to hold me, but I was already a long way off, thanking
heaven that I didn't go into the house."
Paul's blood fairly boiled with rage when he learned that Jean Ficelle
had stooped to further the projects of a man who could have had no other
purpose than to ruin Elina. If his comrade had been in his place at that
moment, he would have made haste to demand an explanation of his
conduct, and would have been very likely to remove any inclination on
his part to act again as the agent of a seducer. But Jean Ficelle and
Sans-Cravate had not reappeared since the morning; and Paul, to reassure
Elina, was compelled to promise her that he would not seek a quarrel
with his fellow messenger.
"There is no danger for me now," she said; "Jean Ficelle did what he was
told to do, in order to earn money. Certainly it is very wrong to
deceive a young girl, for, of course, he knew that it wasn't you who
sent for me. But all messengers are not over particular. So much the
worse for the dishonest ones! Despise that man, but don't quarrel with
him; if you do, monsieur, I shall never tell you again what happens to
me."
"Very well; I will obey you."
"That's right; and then, you must always be with me in the morning when
I go to my work, and at night when I go home; be my protector, my
guardian angel, and I am very sure that no one will try again to induce
me to go into a restaurant."
"To be always with you--that is my dearest wish; but sometimes----"
"Your work--yes, I understand. But try to be always at liberty in the
morning and evening. Isn't it enough to work all day?"
"And if anyone should send word to you to go to a strange house, never
consent."
"Don't be afraid; I will remember the little restaurant. I wish you
could have seen that man's face when he saw that I had escaped him. Oh!
it would have made you laugh. Mon Dieu! it must be awfully late; we have
been talking a long while."
"It seems to me as if it had been only a minute."
"Oh! don't think that it's a bore to me! far from it; but my aunt will
want to know where I have been so late. Do you know what time it is,
Monsieur Paul?"
"I haven't any watch, mademoiselle."
"Nor I; but we can look into the watchmaker's as we pass. Almost eleven,
do you see? And I had so much more to say to you!"
"And so had I!"
"It must wait till to-morrow. Here I am at my door; adieu! till
to-morrow!"
"Till to-morrow!"
"I'll try to remember all I had to say to you."
The lovers parted, regretting that they had not time to talk more. It is
always so while love lasts; for even if they have nothing more to say,
they still have the pleasure of looking at each other.
XX
TWO RIVALS
The clock had just struck eleven. Madame Baldimer, dressed with even
more coquetry than usual, had been waiting a long while in her boudoir;
impatience, uneasiness, and anger gleamed in her eyes. Again and again
she rose, paced the floor excitedly, stopped to listen for the doorbell,
then looked at her clock. For the third time she pulled a bellrope, and
her maid appeared.
"Has no one come, Rosa?"
"No, madame."
"It is inconceivable! I wrote him to come at ten, and now it is eleven!
He is always so eager, so prompt! I cannot understand it. If he had
triumphed, I could conceive of his failing to keep an appointment; but
so long as a man is not our conqueror, he is our slave. Can it be that
Albert is not like other men?"
"Is it Monsieur Albert Vermoncey whom madame expects this evening?"
"To be sure."
"And if Monsieur le Comte Dahlborne should come also?"
"Well! you will admit him."
"Even if Monsieur Albert is here?"
"Mon Dieu! yes; how stupid you are!"
The maid left the room. Madame Baldimer threw herself on a divan, with
her eyes still fixed on the clock; and as the hand circled the dial, her
face assumed a serious, sombre expression; one would have said that,
with the speeding minutes, all the plans she had formed were vanishing
in air.
At last, the bell rang. The fair widow drew herself up with an almost
convulsive movement.
"Here he is!" she exclaimed, and her features assumed an expression of
joy and triumph.
In another instant the door opened. The maid announced Monsieur Albert
Vermoncey, and the young man darted joyously into the boudoir.
"Here I am at last!" he cried; "I have had a hard time of it, madame,
and I did think that it would be impossible for me to-night to enjoy the
pleasure of seeing you, and of this delightful interview which I desired
so earnestly!"
"Mon Dieu! monsieur, what has happened to you, pray? I have been
expecting you since ten o'clock. I had no sooner returned from the
country than I hastened to let you know; I even did you the favor to say
that I should expect you this evening. I thought that you would be very
glad to see me again. But, instead of that, monsieur does not come.
Perhaps I did wrong to write you--I have taken you from your
pleasures----"
"Oh! do not say that. But pray listen to my story--it is very amusing, I
assure you. I am just from the guardhouse."
"From the guardhouse! Why, what have you been doing?"
"It all grew out of a joke we intended to play on a certain young man; I
and three of my friends were waiting for him on Place des Italiens. As
he owes five hundred francs to a gentleman to whom he gave an olive as
security,--it's a gambling debt,--we agreed that, as soon as he
appeared, we would all rush upon him, each of us presenting an olive and
demanding five hundred francs. But one of my friends, who is naturally
very absent-minded, made a mistake and pounced upon a respectable
citizen, who was waiting to buy a check for the Opéra-Comique. He was
frightened, and shouted _thief_. We ran up, and so did the guard; to cut
it short, we were all four taken to the guardhouse at the theatre, and I
fancy we should have been locked up for the night, had it not been for a
staff officer, a friend of my father, who happened to pass. He answered
for us, and then they consented to believe that we were not thieves, and
they set us at liberty."
Madame Baldimer laughed heartily at Albert's adventure. Meanwhile, he
took up a package which he had deposited on a table when he came in, and
placed it on the lovely widow's knees.
"See," he said, "is not this what you expressed a wish to possess?"
Madame Baldimer removed the paper, which contained a magnificent
cashmere shawl. Her face was radiant and she bestowed the sweetest of
smiles on the young man, murmuring:
"Oh! but you are really too gallant; it is too beautiful, and a present
of such value---- No; I cannot accept it."
"You accept a superb fan from Count Dahlborne!"
"There's a vast difference between a fan and this; people will say that
I lead you on to do foolish things."
"Ah! I shall be only too happy to do them, if your love is the reward."
Madame Baldimer did not reply, but she allowed Albert to take her hand
and cover it with kisses. He tried to put his arm about her waist; but
she gently repulsed him, saying:
"But how did you succeed in finding out that it was this very shawl that
I wanted?"
"Didn't you tell me that it was like one that Madame Plays wore at one
of Count Dahlborne's receptions?"
"Yes, I remember----"
"Well! I called on Madame Plays and asked her to show me the beautiful
cashmere she wore that day."
"But I thought that you had quarrelled with that lady."
"I presented her with a bouquet, and she forgave me."
"Just for the bouquet?"
"Why, yes."
"Hm! I imagine that the shawl must have cost you something more."
"You are mistaken."
"Poor Herminie! if she knew that she owed your visit solely to your
desire to give me a shawl like one of hers! Ha! ha! ha! she would be
frantic! What traitors men are, aren't they?"
"We are driven to it sometimes."
"Ha! ha! I like to think of going to see her with this shawl over my
shoulders--she was so proud of hers! she will be struck dumb."
Madame Baldimer continued to laugh. Albert tried to give a more
sentimental turn to the conversation, and, as a woman is not usually
cruel when she laughs, he tried to take advantage of her merriment to
renew certain manoeuvres which would, he hoped, lead him to a complete
victory. But his adversary, laughing all the while, defended herself
with a dexterity which did not indicate that her heart was disposed to
surrender.
Albert was beginning to consider that Madame Baldimer prolonged his
torment a little too far, when the doorbell rang again.
"Who can have come so late to call upon you?" cried Albert; "it is
almost twelve o'clock, and I thought that you would receive nobody but
me to-night."
"Really, I don't expect anybody, unless possibly it is Count Dahlborne.
That man pesters me with his attentions. He has probably heard of my
return, and he loses no time----"
"But a man doesn't call at this time of night, unless he is on very good
terms with a woman!"
"Ah! monsieur, that suspicion----"
"Very well! if it's the count, send him away--don't receive him."
Before Madame Baldimer could reply, the maid announced Count Dahlborne,
and the Swede instantly made his appearance.
Albert's features contracted. Madame Baldimer welcomed the count with an
affable smile; and he, as cold and formal as ever, saluted her with his
usual stiffness, imprinted a kiss on her hand, and sat down beside her,
precisely as if Albert were not present.
The young man amused himself tearing his gloves, while his reflections
took this turn:
"This must come to an end; I didn't give her a shawl that cost five
thousand francs for the pleasure of seeing this man."
Madame Baldimer made one or two of the commonplace remarks which people
employ to open a conversation.
The Swede replied with his usual brevity. Albert did not say a word.
At last, at a moment when nothing was being said, the count took a
velvet case from his pocket, and handed it to Madame Baldimer, saying:
"Here is a trifle--to take the place of the fan; it isn't so breakable."
The widow opened the case, which contained a magnificent opera glass of
most beautiful workmanship; she uttered a cry of admiration, and, taking
the glass from the case, handed it to Albert, saying:
"Did you ever see anybody so gallant?"