presence, I am not selfish enough to object to a journey which cannot
fail to do you good. To leave Paris for some time will certainly be
beneficial to you; and it will be to your advantage to see a little of
the world. But you won't be away too long, will you?"
"Two or three months at most."
"Where do you mean to go?"
"I have no idea; I would like to have an opportunity to start at once."
"Mon Dieu! if you care to see Normandie, my doctor came to see me last
night, and offered to take me there with him, without expense, in a
comfortable post chaise which one of his patients has sent him. He
starts to-day, at three o'clock."
"To-day, at three o'clock. Parbleu! that suits me exactly. As well
Normandie as any other place. At all events, when I have had enough of
it, I can go somewhere else. Quickly, father! give me a line to your
doctor, telling him that he will have a travelling companion; meanwhile,
I will make what preparations are indispensable, put some money in my
pocket--and off we go!"
"You still have some money, I trust?"
"Oh! yes, father; of course, I haven't spent the ten thousand francs you
gave me a few days ago."
Albert bit his lips as he spoke; the memory of the cashmere shawl made
him sigh; but he soon banished the thought, and went to make his
preparations for departure, while Monsieur Vermoncey wrote to his
doctor.
While all this was happening, Tobie Pigeonnier had not remained
inactive. On leaving Albert, he returned to Paul's stand; but the
messenger was not there.
"What good would it do if I should wait for him? I told him to carry
Monsieur Vermoncey his son's letter at once. It's too late now for me to
tell him not to carry it. I did it with the best intentions. Papa
Vermoncey must have received the letter a long while ago; he must think
that his son is dead now, and probably he is in terrible distress,
scurrying about the suburbs to find some trace of his child; it's a
calamity, and I am very sorry; but, after all, when he sees his Albert
again, he'll find out that he isn't dead, and he'll be consoled. So I
don't need to worry any more about that affair. I must give a little
thought to my own concerns now. Albert has given me leave to say that I
fought a duel with him and killed him; that is delicious; he is going to
travel for some time, my lie won't be discovered right away, and, before
it is, my love will be crowned with its greenest myrtle. O superb Plays!
thou shalt be mine! I quiver with joy at the thought. But before I call
on her, I must go home and make a most careful toilet."
Tobie bent his steps toward his abode, but, before he arrived there, he
recalled the fact that he had not breakfasted as he had hoped to do in
the capacity of second in a duel; his stomach told him that he must
satisfy its cravings before attending to anything else. He felt in his
pocket, and exclaimed:
"_Fichtre!_ I have fifteen francs with me, my whole fortune at this
moment. Suppose I treat myself to a _déjeuner à la fourchette_ of the
right sort--why not? Albert is going to lend me five hundred francs--to
redeem my olive; but, after all, I'm not obliged to go and redeem it
to-day. The gentleman with white eyebrows, who is very rich, can afford
to wait a few days more. Meanwhile, I'll go to see Aunt Abraham, with
my five hundred francs in my pocket, and I'll take care to jingle them
so she will think I'm doing a big business, and then perhaps she'll make
up her mind to give me an interest in her business. I'll breakfast at
the Café Anglais. I'm hungry enough to treat myself handsomely."
And the little dandy, swaggering as if he had his cane, and all puffed
up with the good fortune that he anticipated, entered the Café Anglais
with his nose in the air, seated himself at a table, called the waiter
in a loud voice, ordered oysters, kidneys, chicken _à la tartare_, and
beaune première, with the assured air of a man who cares nothing for the
expense and whose only thought is to breakfast bountifully. He was
served promptly, he ate with zest, his appetite was even keener after
the oysters, and became more imperative than ever after the kidneys.
Tobie denied it nothing, until it was completely satisfied. Not until he
had eaten for an hour and a half, almost without intermission, did he
decide to stop. It was high time; his bill amounted to fourteen francs
fifty centimes. He generously gave the waiter fifteen centimes, put the
remaining seven sous in his pocket, and went to his lodgings, his brain
excited by thoughts of love, and by the bottle of beaune he had
consumed.
Tobie passed his clothes in review--an operation which required much
less time than he could have wished. After a careful examination of his
three waistcoats, his two pairs of trousers, and his only coat, he put
on those which he judged to be in the best condition; then he curled and
crimped and anointed himself, and saturated himself with eau de cologne;
as he had no other perfume, he drenched his handkerchief with essence of
lemon used to remove stains; the result being that his concierge, when
he passed, mistook him for a bowl of Roman punch.
Thus arrayed and anointed, young Pigeonnier repaired to Madame Plays's
abode.
"She accepted me for her chevalier," he said to himself; "I will go and
tell her that she is fully avenged. She will be delighted with me, and
she will reward my valor by the sweetest caresses. By the way, what did
I kill Albert with? With a pistol? no, that is too commonplace. With a
sword--I like that better; it's more after the style of the chevaliers
of old; I split his head open--no, I pierced his breast with a
sword-thrust. Ah! here is her house; I must not forget the directions
she gave me: the little staircase at the right; I am to go up to the
first floor, and say: 'I am Tobie,' and I shall be admitted at once.
But, mon Dieu! it just occurs to me; she told me to bring her a token of
my victory; sapristi! I forgot all about that; what, in heaven's name,
shall I take her for a token?"
Tobie walked back and forth in front of Madame Plays's house, scratching
his head in his efforts to think what he could carry her in default of
Albert's ears, which she herself had suggested. He searched his pockets,
but could find only his handkerchief perfumed with lemon, and the seven
sous remaining from his fifteen francs; there was nothing which could
possibly be produced as a token of victory.
Tobie had almost determined to present himself without a token, when, as
he looked about, he spied at some distance one of the enormous rolls, or
_carrots_, which are commonly suspended over the doors of tobacco shops.
It arrested the young man's attention, and an idea entered his mind,
which he caught on the wing and clung to. He walked rapidly to the
tobacco shop, and arrived there still in possession of his idea, which
he proceeded to put into execution.
The dealers in tobacco are almost all women, and Tobie said to the woman
behind the counter:
"A cigar, madame, if you please."
"There they are, monsieur; take your choice."
"Oh! I want something better than those; I must have a very fine
five-sou cigar; one can get a very fine cigar for five sous."
"Yes, monsieur; here are some; but if you want a still larger one, we
make them for ten sous; they're magnificent--almost as big as carrots.
Would monsieur like one for ten sous?"
"No, no! that's too big; this one will do very well."
Tobie selected a five-sou cigar, and had it carefully wrapped in paper,
to the amazement of the dealer, because a man who buys one cigar
ordinarily begins by lighting it. At last, armed with his cigar, which
he placed in his pocket, he returned to Madame Plays's house.
"Now I am all right," he said to himself; "I have all I require, I have
my token of victory. Albert almost always has a cigar in his mouth, and
I'll say that I found this one in his pocket and took it. What a bright
idea that was of mine! O suggestive carrot! how glad I am that I
happened to see you!"
Tobie entered the house, stalked by the concierge, calling to him, with
a superb air: "Madame Plays!" ascended the little staircase, rang, and
said in a cajoling tone to the maid who opened the door:
"Be good enough to announce me to madame; she will receive me at once."
"What is monsieur's name?"
"Tobie. I am Tobie. Just say to your enchanting mistress: 'Madame, it is
Tobie,' and she will understand."
The maid turned on her heel, muttering:
"Tobie! Tobie! that's a funny name. Seems to me, madame used to have a
little dog of that name."
Madame Plays was before her mirror, trying a new way of arranging her
hair on top of her head, which was supposed to make her look like a
Spartan woman. Madame Plays was much inclined toward Greek styles; and
ever since she had heard that the women of Sparta used to dance a dance
called _Bibasis_, which consisted principally in kicking themselves
behind with their heels, she had passed part of the day practising that
dance.
"If there are idiots who say that it's nothing more than the cancan,"
she would say to herself, "I'll just answer: 'You are donkeys; it's the
_Bibasis_, an old dance of the Greeks revived.'"
When her maid announced Tobie, she started.
"Tobie!" she exclaimed. "Oh! yes, to be sure! I had forgotten all about
him. Let Tobie come in; let him come in at once!"
The maid ushered the young man into the room, and retired. When he
entered the boudoir, Pigeonnier deemed it fitting to assume an air at
once tender and melancholy; so he stepped forward and saluted Madame
Plays with an expression bordering on the tragic.
"It's you, is it, monsieur?" she said. "But I remember, you were my
chevalier. Well! what news do you bring me?"
Tobie struck an attitude, and replied:
"It is, in very truth, as your chevalier that I present myself, madame;
you ordered me to avenge your wrongs by fighting with Albert, and I have
obeyed you."
"Oho! indeed! you have fought a duel with him, have you?"
"Yes, madame."
"When was that?"
"This morning, at Saint-Mandé. A thousand witnesses can inform you that
I went there with Albert."
"And what did you fight with?"
"Swords, madame."
"Well! what was the result?"
"I fulfilled your wishes to the utmost, madame; you wished me to kill
Albert, and I have killed him--a sword-thrust in the breast; he died on
the spot. I shed tears over my victory, I am not ashamed to admit
it.--But as I placed my hand on the poor fellow's heart, to find out
whether he still breathed, I felt this cigar in his pocket, and took it.
You desired a token of my victory: this is the only one that I can offer
you."
Madame Plays listened to Tobie with the air of one who could not believe
what she heard; but when he had concluded, she rushed at him with a
furious gesture and cried, snatching the cigar from his hand:
"You have killed him! Can it be possible? such a lovely boy! the only
man I have ever loved! Yes, I was saying to myself this morning: 'I have
never loved any man but him.'--And you had the villainy to kill him! and
you come to tell me of it, you murderer!"
Tobie was utterly crushed.
"But, madame," he faltered, "I simply carried out your orders; you
ordered me to avenge you."
"That is not true! I couldn't have said that. Or if I did, I was mad,
and you shouldn't have paid any attention to it."
"But, madame----"
"To think of killing Albert! such a handsome brunette, and such lovely
eyes! Take yourself out of my sight, monsieur--go instantly, or I won't
answer for the effects of my anger. Go, I say, you monster, you
villain!"
"What, madame! when I fought solely to avenge you----"
"Oh! what infamy! to say that it was I who---- Leave the room,
monsieur!"
Seeing that Tobie did not stir, Madame Plays pushed him roughly toward
the door. The little fellow, who was nearly overturned by the shock,
clung to a chair, and could not make up his mind what to do. Meanwhile,
the robust lady opened the door herself, and, while Pigeonnier's back
was turned, kicked him with all her force.
"Oho! you refuse to go, do you?"
By that means, Tobie was at last ejected from the room, and the door was
instantly closed and locked upon him. He flew into a rage in his turn,
and muttered angrily as he descended the stairs:
"Sacredieu! this is too much! By heaven! I have had enough of that
woman; a slap in the face the other day, and now a kick! What under
heaven will it be the next time? So she is mad because I have killed
Albert! She plays little Hermione, and treats me like Orestes. To be
sure, Orestes didn't receive a kick in the rump; she has interpolated
that.--So you mourn Albert's death, do you?--Very good! just to punish
her, I won't tell her it isn't true. _Bigre!_ what a love affair! I
don't want any more of it, thanks!"
Holding his hand to the injured part, Tobie betook himself to Albert's
house, to get the five hundred francs which he had promised to lend him,
and which might well act as an antidote to the affront he had
undergone.
But when he inquired for his friend, the servant said:
"Monsieur Albert started for Normandie half an hour ago."
"He has gone away, and left nothing for me?"
"No, monsieur."
Tobie was tempted to beat his brains out against the wall.
"This caps the climax," he said to himself, as he walked away; "I have
two sous left! Perhaps I had better go and jingle them in Aunt Abraham's
ear, to induce her to make me a partner in her business!"
[Illustration: _Copyright 1903 by G. Barrie & Sons._
_THE RENDEZVOUS AT THE CAFÉ_
_Another person had, in fact, entered the café. It was a man of
twenty-six or twenty-seven years, of medium height, well set up, with
dark brown hair, a slightly flushed face, sharp eyes, turned-up nose,
and a huge mouth--everything, in short, which denotes a jovial
companion._]
NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME IV
SANS-CRAVATE;
OR,
THE MESSENGERS
VOL. II
LITTLE STREAMS
PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
[Illustration]
GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS
THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK
_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._
SANS-CRAVATE;
OR,
THE MESSENGERS
[CONTINUED]
XXIII
A NEW PATRON
Several days had passed since Albert left Paris. His sudden departure
had greatly surprised his friends and boon companions, and, as they did
not know the cause of it, each of them formed his own conjectures.
"He probably thought that there wasn't enough sport in Paris," said
Mouillot, "and has gone elsewhere in search of adventures."
"I have no doubt that he is following some woman who has magnetized
him," observed Monsieur Dupétrain; "someone who can make him go to the
end of the world by the power of her magnetic fluid."
Balivan, distraught as always, exclaimed at first:
"What! Albert has left Paris? That's very strange! Can he have gone on a
sketching trip?"--But on the next and following days, as he smoked his
cigar on the boulevard, he never failed to say: "It's a surprising
thing--I haven't met Albert to-day."
Monsieur Varinet, the young man with white eyebrows, and holder of
Tobie's olive, said nothing at all.
There were two persons who might have informed these gentlemen as to the
cause of Albert's departure: Tobie Pigeonnier, who had been his second
in the duel, a fact of which he would have boasted everywhere had he
not been forced anew to shun the society of his friends; for, being
less prepared than ever to redeem his fetich, and to cut a figure in
society, the little man had disappeared; no one ever saw him, by day or
by night, so that it might well be believed that he was dead or had left
Paris; and Monsieur Varinet was beginning to contemplate distrustfully
the little, dried fruit which he still kept in his purse.
The second person was Monsieur Célestin de Valnoir; that gentleman, who
had known of Albert's duel, was not long in learning of his departure
from Paris. He was no sooner absolutely certain of that fact than he
hastened to Madame Baldimer's to inform her.
That lady, whose features had assumed a more serious expression than
ever since her rupture with young Vermoncey, received Célestin rather
coldly; when she had listened to what he had come to tell her, as to
something which she already knew, she replied shortly:
"Your intimate friend has left Paris without you! It seems to me that he
has treated us about alike; our discredit is complete. The result is,
monsieur, that I fancy that you are not likely to know much more than I
about his affairs hereafter, so that you will not be called upon to put
yourself out to please me."
Célestin tried to assume a sentimental air, as he replied:
"Hereafter, madame, I shall not come to talk about Albert, but about
myself and my love for you. I have broken entirely with my friend, for
Albert, having found me with you, is too jealous to forgive me. I care
very little, however, for his hatred or his indifference, since you have
promised to reward me."
Madame Baldimer rose and bowed low to her visitor.
"I will keep my promise, monsieur, as you will see very soon."
And the next day, Célestin received a parcel carefully wrapped in paper,
and a short note, in Madame Baldimer's hand, containing these words
only:
"I promised to pay you for what you did for me, and I keep my
promise, monsieur. Deign to accept the contents of this parcel; it
is your compensation."
Célestin hastily tore off the wrapper, and found the magnificent shawl
that Albert had presented to the fair American, and the costly opera
glass given her by Count Dahlborne. Thus she rewarded Célestin by
sending him the gifts she had received from her other two adorers.
At first, he gnawed his lips in anger, muttering:
"What does she take me for? I consider her damnably impertinent. The
idea of offering to pay me! It won't take me long to send back her
parcel."
But, after examining the two objects, Célestin thought better of it and
sent neither of them back.
"They will help me to seduce some other woman," he said to himself.
Madame Baldimer had estimated him at his exact value.
Paul had resumed his occupation; as before, he arrived at his stand very
early in the morning; but Elina, too, came to her work at the
dressmaker's before any of her fellow apprentices had left their
beds--in spite of which fact, she was sometimes the last to appear in
the workroom; for every morning she slackened her pace when she saw the
young messenger, who ran quickly to meet her. It rarely happens that
there is not some doorway, some passage, some porte cochère, which
offers shelter to those who wish to talk, and who are very glad not to
stand where they are exposed to the eyes of everybody who passes.
Lovers especially seek sheltered nooks and dark corners; when they are
walking together on the street, you will see them look out of the
corners of their eyes, to right and left, hoping to espy some obscure
passageway, and agreeing that it is a great pity that all the new houses
have porte cochères. And as soon as they discover the most uninviting
nook, they hasten thither to talk a moment. That moment sometimes lasts
for hours. Oftentimes a concierge, disgusted that any one should talk
unless they talk to her, calls out impertinently from the end of the
passage:
"Aren't you most through chattering there? Well! those people are making
themselves at home! They make assignations in my passageway! They keep
other folks out, but what do they care! If I didn't keep an eye on 'em,
God knows what they'd be up to on my premises! God! what a place this
world is getting to be!"
Another one will say nothing, but begin to sweep pools of water against
the legs of the couple who have stopped in her doorway. Or else she will
close the door of the passage, saying:
"Who do you want to see? You can't stand there, I tell you!"
But all these petty annoyances slide lightly over the good nature of a
pair of lovers. If they are obliged to go away, they stop again a little
farther on; or they defy the sweeping, the unkind remarks, the silly
jests, and the inquisitive glances of the gossips of the quarter, who,
in most cases, act as auxiliaries to the concierges. What do they care
what is said, or what happens about them? oftentimes they don't see it.
It is so pleasant to love and to tell each other of it, to gaze into the
loved one's eyes, to talk in whispers, to understand each other at the
slightest hint, to exchange ardent thoughts and warm breaths. When we
are enjoying such bliss as that, it engrosses us and leaves us no senses
with which to be conscious of anything else. She was quite right, was
that lady of the good old time, who, when her knight sought a shelter
from the rain, cried:
"You no longer love me! if you did, you would not have noticed that it
rains!"
Elina told Paul all that she did, all that she thought, all the plans
she formed during the day and sometimes during the night; for one does
not always sleep at night, especially if one is very much in love.
The young messenger received these sweet confidences with the deepest
interest, for he was always included in Elina's projects. The little
dressmaker had not a thought or hope which did not relate to Paul; and
she told her lover so with an artless sincerity which enchanted him.
But, for all that, he was often very depressed, and that grieved the
young girl, who said to him one morning:
"Aren't you glad that I tell you all my thoughts? don't you approve of
my plans for the future? Instead of being gratified that I think of you
all the time, it seems to sadden you and make you unhappy; if that's how
it is, monsieur, I won't tell you anything more!"
"Oh! do not think that, mademoiselle," Paul replied, as he took Elina's
hand. "I listen to you with the greatest pleasure; I am too happy to
hear what you say, to know that I am always in your thoughts. But, do
what I will--I think----"
"What, pray?"
"That all these plans are not certain to be carried out. For, before I
can marry you, before I can have the happiness of calling you my wife, I
must have money in hand. Your aunt, Madame Vardeine, will never consent
to give you to a poor messenger; and she will be in the right. Oh! yes,
parents are always right. You are fitted to marry a rich man, with an
established position--a man whose honorable calling will not expose you
to the risk of having to blush for your husband. Not that I despise my
trade! far from it; but the world has its customs, its exigencies, its
laws, which we are bound to respect. The man who stands at the street
corner, to do errands, cannot hope to be received in the salon of the
humblest bourgeois. And you, Elina, with your charms, your intelligence,
your beauty, are capable of conferring happiness on a man who will be
able to take you into society, who will have an attractive position and
a name to offer you. Whereas I lack everything. Ah! you see that I do
wrong to love you! and that I am justified in being depressed!"
While her young friend was saying this, little Elina showed, by repeated
impatient gestures, how far she was from sharing his ideas. At last,
barely giving him time to finish, she cried:
"Hush! hush this minute! for what you are saying is very wicked. So you
would have me cease to love you, because you are a messenger! But I
insist upon loving you, monsieur, and I will love you whether you want
me to or not. Besides, what you say isn't fair to yourself. Are you like
other messengers? do you swear every time you speak? are you coarse and
vulgar, and rude in your manners? No, you are just the opposite; you are
perfectly well fitted to go into a salon; indeed, you would not be out
of place; all you would have to do would be to change your jacket for a
coat; and is that so hard to do?"
"No; but the coat isn't enough."
"I beg your pardon, monsieur--a coat and education. But are you obliged
to remain a messenger forever? When we are married, you can go into
something else; you will have saved something, for you can't spend very
much money, you live so modestly; you never go to the wine shop. I have
heard your comrades say more than once: 'He must be saving money; he
works hard, and never enjoys himself.'"
Paul looked at the ground as he replied:
"Alas! no, mademoiselle; I haven't saved anything; I have no money."
"Why, what do you do with your money, then?" cried Elina. "You can't
give it to your parents, as you haven't any."
Paul blushed, and stammered:
"I haven't been able to save anything, mademoiselle; it isn't my fault."
Elina feared that she had wounded him, and made haste to say: