that I care for money! I care nothing at all about it, I tell you; don't
grieve, Monsieur Paul; we shall have enough, anyway. I am rich, you
know; I have what my father left me, and when I am of age my aunt will
have to give it to me. Then it will be yours, and with that we shall
have enough to start a nice little business. Come, monsieur, don't be
cast down any more, when I tell you that we shall be very happy some
day."
Paul sighed as he kissed Elina's hand; but soon the smile reappeared on
his lips and love in his eyes; how could he complain when he saw how
dearly she loved him?
Such was generally the end of these interviews on a street corner, under
a porte cochère, or at the entrance of a passage.
Such loving words as these are not always exchanged behind the gorgeous
hangings of a salon.
I do not say this to induce you to make love on street corners; but
solely to show you that it is done everywhere. The poor must have some
compensation.
After these affectionate conversations with the little dressmaker, Paul
returned to his place lighter-hearted and more content with his lot.
Then he would look about for Sans-Cravate, with whom he was most
desirous to be reconciled, because he had, in the depths of his heart, a
feeling of affection for him, which he could not overcome. Genuine
affection is not readily destroyed, and, when you have a sympathetic
feeling for a person, it is like the natural instincts: drive it away if
you will, it returns at a gallop.
But Sans-Cravate was almost never in his place; as soon as he had earned
a few sous, Jean Ficelle enticed him away to spend them.
One morning, when Albert had been away from Paris for some time, a
gentleman stopped in front of Paul, who was sitting on his _crochets_,
and said to him:
"I was looking for you, my friend; I have something for you to do. Do
you recognize me?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur," Paul replied quickly, and with evident emotion;
"you are Monsieur Albert's father; I should be very blameworthy if I had
forgotten you--you were so kind to me!"
"I was no more than just," Monsieur Vermoncey rejoined, with a smile.
"Come with me, if you will; I have several errands for you to do."
Paul followed Monsieur Vermoncey, who took him up to his apartment and
gave him several letters to deliver, to which he was to bring back
answers--some verbal, others written. The young man set off at once; he
performed the commissions intrusted to him promptly and with marked
zeal; as most of those to whom he was sent gave him no written answers,
he had to remember exactly what each of them said to him. But he had an
excellent memory, and he transmitted the messages faithfully to Monsieur
Vermoncey.
Albert's father was surprised at the remarkable celerity with which Paul
had made the journey to several places at a distance from his house, and
greatly pleased by the way in which he had carried out his wishes. He
paid him generously, saying:
"You have done well, my friend, very well! but another time you need not
hurry so; barely an hour and a quarter to go to all four corners of
Paris! I call that going like the wind, not walking! I don't want you to
make yourself ill in my service."
"Oh! you need have no fear, monsieur; it is a pleasure to me to show you
my zeal."
Monsieur Vermoncey seemed surprised by the young messenger's language.
He looked earnestly at him for several seconds, then dismissed him,
saying:
"Until another time! but only on condition that you won't go so fast."
A week later, Monsieur Vermoncey's servant came after Paul, who went
with him at once. The young man was ushered into his patron's apartment,
and the servant left him in the library, saying that he would tell his
master that he was there.
In a few moments he returned, and said:
"Monsieur has not finished the letter he was writing, and now he has a
visitor; he told me to ask you to wait a little while, if you can."
"Yes, yes; so long as monsieur wishes," Paul replied.
"Stay here, then; it's pleasanter, and nobody goes through this room."
Left alone, Paul sat down and glanced timidly about. Against all four
walls were shelves filled with books, which were protected from the dust
by sliding glass doors; but several of the doors were open, and the
books were at the service of those who cared for them.
The young man gazed for some time, with something like envy, at those
treasures of wit and learning gathered in so small a space; he read the
names of Voltaire, Rousseau, Corneille, Molière, Montaigne, La Fontaine,
and said to himself:
"Mon Dieu! how fortunate anybody is to own all these books! to be in
such good company! for an author's mind is himself, his works are his
thoughts, and when reading him one can imagine that he is listening to
him; that it is he who is speaking. What a blessed thing is genius! it
does not die! A man can never have a moment's ennui when he is in the
company of those men!"
Paul heaved a sigh, and, thinking that he might have a long while to
wait in the library, concluded that he would do no harm by opening one
of the books which were before him; so he put out his hand and took the
volume that was nearest him. It was La Rochefoucauld's _Maximes_; he
resumed his seat, and began to read it with avidity.
He had been in the library quite a long while, but he was still reading,
and the time passed very quickly. Suddenly he felt a hand on his
shoulder, and, turning his head, saw Monsieur Vermoncey, who said to
him with a smile:
"Ah! I have caught you."
The young man blushed, and hastily rose to his feet.
"Pray forgive me, monsieur," he faltered, "for presuming to take down
one of those books; but I had to wait--and I thought that--that----"
"There is no occasion to apologize, my friend; you have done no wrong.
On the contrary, it is greatly to your credit that you are fond of
reading. What book have you there?"
"La Rochefoucauld's _Maximes_."
"That is rather a serious work; what do you think of it?"
"What he says is very sad, and does not give one a very high opinion of
men. But I'm afraid it is true."
Monsieur Vermoncey looked at Paul in amazement.
"Really, my friend," he said, "you are no common messenger; I have
noticed already that you express yourself in much better language than
most of those in your station, and now your opinion of this book proves
that I was not mistaken; you have had a good education, have you not?"
"Yes, monsieur; an excellent man, who had no children, became interested
in me and took me into his family when I was hardly ten years old. He
was kind enough to send me to school; and I was so happy not to remain
ignorant, that I made the most of the instruction that was given me."
"How does it happen that your patron, having given you an education,
allowed you to become a messenger? He should have completed his work and
found you a place."
"Ah! monsieur, it was not that excellent man's fault. He took me into
his own office as clerk; but at his death I lost everything, place and
patron. It was then that I became a messenger; it was necessary for me
to earn money."
"To assist your parents, I suppose?"
Paul lowered his eyes, and murmured very low:
"Yes, monsieur; it was for them."
"I understand you now!" cried Monsieur Vermoncey; "you are a good son;
you sacrificed your hopes, your future, to what you considered the duty
of making yourself useful at once to those who gave you life. Poor
fellow! your conduct is very noble. But you must leave a trade which is
not for such as you. Yes; I will undertake to find you an honorable and
lucrative position."
"Oh! monsieur--such kindness!"
"Why, it is not more than justice. Anyone can see that you ought not to
be a messenger. Do you know how to write?"
"Yes, monsieur; my handwriting is not very bad; I know how to figure
also."
"Very good. I will find a place for you, never fear. I can't promise
that it will be very soon, for here in Paris there are so many
applicants for even the smallest places, that there are very few
vacancies; but I promise you that--yes, within three months you will
have changed your position in life."
"Mon Dieu! what have I done to deserve that you should take so much
interest in me?"
"In the first place, all that you did the first time I ever saw you, to
help me to find my son; and, secondly, you attracted me at once; I felt
that you were a worthy young man. Rely on me hereafter; I propose to
replace the protector you have lost."
"Ah! monsieur."
Obeying an irresistible impulse, Paul seized Monsieur Vermoncey's hand
and put it to his lips, then let it fall, and drew back, as if he feared
that he had offended him; but Albert's father, deeply touched, took the
young man's hand and pressed it warmly.
"Come, come, be of good heart, my friend; you will make your way. But,
pending your change of occupation, will you do another errand for
me--take this letter and this casket to one of my friends?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur; whatever you choose; I am at your service, and shall
always be; even if my position should change, my devotion to you would
remain the same. You will see that my heart is not ungrateful."
Paul took the letter and casket, and hastened away to deliver them at
their destination. He acquitted himself of his commission with his
accustomed zeal, and his new patron said, as he dismissed him:
"I shall not forget you, my friend; I shall begin at once to look after
a place for you, for I shall not be content until I see you engaged in
some employment worthy of your education and manners."
Paul thanked Monsieur Vermoncey again, and took leave of him, mentally
returning thanks to heaven for giving him a new protector. He began now
to believe that Elina's delightful plans might be carried out, and that
the dreams of happiness of which she so often told him might some day
come to pass.
XXIV
WINE.--CARDS.--BLOWS
It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon; Sans-Cravate, who had done a good
day's work the day before, carrying billets-doux for several young men
of fashion, who are always generous when they are in good humor, had
gone off to walk as usual with Jean Ficelle, who led him toward Pont
d'Austerlitz, to the place where games of chance were usually in
operation.
As they walked along, the two friends, who had already refreshed
themselves several times, talked with much animation; and the amusing
part of it was that while one of them talked on one subject, the other
talked on another, and neither of them listened or answered; which did
not prevent them from going on.
"Yes!" said Sans-Cravate; "I don't think any more of her than if I'd
never known her. Damme! if anybody should ask me now what color
Bastringuette's eyes are, I should be hard put to it to answer. I don't
remember."
"And you see," said Jean Ficelle, "there is people who say that you
never win at cards. But that's all nonsense! and the proof is that I
might have made my fortune if I hadn't been a coward."
"But to say that she wasn't pretty, that there wasn't something alluring
about her--I should lie, if I denied it. But all women have that.
Parbleu! you only have to be in love to find it out."
"Look you, I'll give you a comparison: You haven't got any money, and
you stake what you have--then you win! But if you have anything, you're
afraid of losing it; so you won't risk it, and you miss the chance of
making a fortune."
"And that fellow who's always looking at me, and acts as if he wanted to
speak to me. Oh! just let him come--I'll give him a warm reception! It
ain't that I've seen him with Bastringuette. No, I'll have to admit
that; since that day on Rue Barbette, when we met Paul dressed like a
swell, and Bastringuette a little farther on--I've never seen him with
her, and they do well to keep out of sight! For if they should act as if
they meant to laugh at me--why, by heaven! it would go hard with 'em!"
"And then, you see, there's some who are mighty smart--they always win.
I know one fellow--and he's a great swell--who makes six francs a day
with _biribi;_ that's a trade that would suit me down to the ground!"
Suddenly Jean Ficelle put his hand on his comrade's arm and stopped him,
saying:
"Look, they're already at it, the rascals! They go to work early,
they're no sluggards!"
The messengers had reached the river bank, near a game of _table-basse_,
run by a tall fellow whose tongue was never at rest; he bewildered his
audience by his incessant chatter.
A number of men of somewhat forbidding aspect were gathered about the
game. But as two countrymen approached, the spectators made room for
them; and the sharper offered them a dicebox with some little balls,
crying:
"Come, messieurs, try your luck! every throw wins something, and it's
only twenty sous a throw; and for twenty sous, if you choose, you can
win a magnificent silver repeating watch, or a cover of the same metal,
which you can have the pleasure of presenting to your good wife; or a
thimble,--also of the same metal,--with which you can do homage to your
venerable mother, if you are fortunate enough to possess her still."
The peasants could not resist the temptation; one of them took the
dicebox and threw the balls, and Jean-Pierre counted. (_Jean-Pierre_ is
the sobriquet by which these charlatans call one another.) He counted
with amazing facility and dexterity; his addition always seemed
perfectly fair, but no one ever won prizes worth more than two or three
sous.
"Come, messieurs, keep on, try your luck again," cried Jean-Pierre;
"that throw turned out well for Jean-Pierre, but the luck will change;
you'll win the big prizes, messieurs! and Jean-Pierre will be in the
hole. But he will always be only too happy to fulfil his engagements
with the honorable company."
The peasant, who had won only a box of matches for his twenty sous,
threw again, in the hope of having better luck, and the product of the
sale of his cabbages, beans, and strawberries soon passed into
Jean-Pierre's pockets.
While the bumpkin stood rooted to the spot, dazed by the loss of his
money, a mechanic approached the table, and, after looking on for some
time, observed:
"I like _biribi_ better."
"Here you are, monsieur! here's the _biribi_ you're looking for!" cried
the sharper, producing three cards from an apron which he wore, and in
which was an enormous pocket whose gaping mouth seemed ready to engulf
all the silver and loose change of the assembled company.
While the sharper arranged his _biribi_ table, and made his three cards
fly about with remarkable dexterity, another mechanic, who had followed
his comrade, said to him:
"Come away, Benoît; don't bet! Those games are a fraud, you know that
everyone always loses."
"What's that, monsieur, you say that everyone always loses with me?"
cried the croupier, having first cleared his throat in order to speak
more volubly. "Why, in that case, you can't have been present at all the
throws I lost just now. Ask the honorable company here present if I
haven't paid out more than a hundred francs within half an hour--yes,
monsieur, a hundred francs! And I don't put it too high, and I don't
count a silver watch that that gentleman over yonder won from me--the
one with the handsome whiskers; and ear-rings--of pure gold,
hall-marked, that I redeemed for twelve francs from that short young man
who looks so happy, and who means to give the money to his virtuous
mother, who has longed for a cup of chocolate for sixty years!--Isn't
this so, my little man?--You see, he shows you his twelve francs and
presses them to his heart. Oh, no! no one ever wins with me, messieurs!
But, I tell you, this game is absolutely free from trickery; it is
simply for you to guess where the card called _biribi_ is. It isn't my
fault when you guess wrong. The sums I have already lost are enormous!
But if I should tell you that I always lose, I should lie; no,
messieurs, I don't always lose; but you have an even chance, if you have
a sharp eye, if you pick it out of three cards--that's very
few--three--only three cards; if you pick out _biribi_, why, Jean-Pierre
is certainly in the hole. Come, messieurs, make your bets! I pay cash,
my pockets are well lined! there's plenty of the _quibus_! it rests
with you whether it passes from my pockets into yours."
The gambler concluded his discourse by slapping the pocket which
contained his money; and the workingman, bewildered by that torrent of
words poured forth without pausing to take breath, made up his mind to
try his luck; he followed with his eyes the three cards which
Jean-Pierre moved about on the table, from right to left and left to
right, with a rapidity which made the eyes ache; then, believing that he
was sure of his card, he placed upon it all the money he had received
for his week's wages, which was all that his family had to live upon.
"Will you take all that at once?" he cried excitedly.
"Why not, monsieur? Jean-Pierre never weakens; he takes whatever you
choose--your clothes or your handkerchiefs, if you haven't any money!
Jean-Pierre will do anything to please you."
"Let her go, then; that one's _biribi_! Turn it over."
The gambler turned the card--the workman had lost; he was crestfallen
and speechless with dismay, and the peasant, who also had been stripped,
laughed stupidly and said:
"He ain't any smarter than I am, he ain't."
Meanwhile, spurred on by Jean Ficelle, who claimed to be certain that he
could tell him how to win, Sans-Cravate was about to give way to the
temptation to try his hand at _biribi_, when a confederate ran up; he
had sighted a police officer on the horizon. In an instant, the games
were folded up and carried off by the Jean-Pierres, who ran as fast as
their legs would carry them; while their dupes remained behind, feeling
in their empty pockets, and trying to decide--one of them, whether he
should return to his village without the proceeds of the sale of his
produce; the other, whether he dared face his children, who would ask
him for money with which to buy bread.
Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle walked away.
"We arrived too late," said the latter; "it's too bad! I have an idea
that we would have broken the bank, and then what a spree we'd have had!
we wouldn't have worked for a week!"
"For my part, I am glad I didn't play," said Sans-Cravate; "the money
goes too fast that way; and then, too, gambling's a miserable business!"
"Oh! _ouiche!_ as if a man mustn't have some fun out of life! weren't we
born to enjoy ourselves? Only sneaks, like Paul, talk that way. For my
part, I claim that gambling's the spice of life; look you, I'll give you
a comparison----"
"Pshaw! there's a wine shop yonder; I like that better than your
_biribi_."
As the two friends were about to enter the wine shop, a man behind them
hailed them:
"So you're too proud to speak to a friend, eh?"
They both turned, and Jean Ficelle uttered a joyful exclamation.
"Why, it's Laboussole!" he said; "old Laboussole! Well, this is a
surprise!"
It was, in fact, Monsieur Laboussole who stood before them; but his
aspect was a little less shabby than formerly: he wore a frock-coat of
chestnut-colored beaver, abnormally full, and so long that he almost
walked on it; it was plain that the garment was not made for him, but
that did not prevent him from carrying it with a swagger, and looking
down at himself often with a complacent expression, as if admiring his
coat. His hat was the same one; but instead of the strip of bed ticking
for a cravat, Monsieur Laboussole wore a black stock, which was not
absolutely new, but nevertheless imparted to its wearer a sort of
bellicose aspect. Add a pair of moustaches which were as yet in their
infancy, and which persisted in growing black on one side and gray on
the other, and you can form an idea of Laboussole as he accosted the two
messengers.
"Well, well! is it really you, old fellow?" continued Jean Ficelle,
wringing Laboussole's hand. "It's a long time since I saw you--almost
three months and a half."
"Yes," said Sans-Cravate, who seemed less delighted than his comrade by
the meeting; "not since the day we drank together on Rue Saint-Lazare,
and monsieur was arrested."
"Oh, yes! to be sure--I remember," said Laboussole, good-humoredly. "You
were present at the time of my arrest, weren't you? A blunder, my boys,
an unlucky blunder, and nothing else! They mistook me for another man;
and after keeping me in prison two months, they let me go in a hurry.
They went so far as to make apologies--which I accepted--but it was
almighty unpleasant, all the same. I was tempted to go to law, to make a
claim for damages and interest; but everybody said to me: 'We've never
had a doubt of your innocence; society has always done you justice, and
that ought to satisfy you.'"
"_Pardi!_ I never believed you were guilty, and I've said so more than
once to Sans-Cravate.--Ain't that so, Sans-Cravate? haven't I told you
they did wrong to arrest Laboussole, because he was as white as my
shirt?"
Sans-Cravate nodded his head; whereupon Laboussole seized his hand and
shook it, saying:
"Your good opinion is very pleasant to me, my boys. Yes, I am quite as
white as Jean Ficelle's shirt--perhaps a little whiter, even;--but I
believe you were going into the wine shop; don't let me keep you."
"On the contrary, you're coming in to have a drink with us. Who ever
heard of friends meeting without wetting their whistles?"
"With pleasure, my friends; let's go in; I was just thinking that I felt
the need of moistening my lips."
The three men entered the wine shop. Jean Ficelle asked for a small
private room, and they were shown into one where there were two tables,
both unoccupied. Wine was brought, and the glasses were filled and
emptied several times. Monsieur Laboussole seemed overjoyed to have met
the two messengers; Jean Ficelle manifested equal satisfaction; and
Sans-Cravate himself, after drinking three or four glasses of wine,
became very good-humored.
"I say, old fellow," said Jean Ficelle, scrutinizing Laboussole, "seems
to me, business must have been pretty good with you since we met. On my
word, you're rigged out like a landholder of Ile Saint-Louis! _Bigre!_
what style!"
"Yes," replied Laboussole, drawing himself up in his beaver coat. "I'm
in a very pretty line of business now. I have a position in an
enterprise that is just being started; I have an idea that I'm going to
make my fortune."
"The devil! there's nothing cheap about you!"
"What sort of a business is it?" asked Sans-Cravate.
"It's something new and ingenious, my friends; imagine, if you please,
that a party of capitalists have conceived the idea of forming a company
to insure against fleas and all insects that devour mankind; for, as
you probably know, mankind is being decimated by insects, and, if we
don't look out, the world will come to an end that way. Now, then, the
company has a capital stock of a million. With a million francs, you
see, it would beat the devil if they couldn't wipe out all the fleas in
Europe. It's a magnificent chance; the shares are going up, up at a
frightful rate!"
"Oh! I say! that's a funny kind of insurance!"
"Messieurs, everything is insured nowadays: life, fortune, women--yes,
messieurs, a company's being formed to guarantee the fidelity of your
wives and mistresses! There won't be any more cuckolds, messieurs. Think
what a vast enterprise! and what an age--that will have seen it! But
they haven't succeeded yet in raising money enough to start the thing;
they need a lot of money, so it seems. Speaking of mistresses, what's
become of your sweetheart Bastringuette? I don't see her with you, my
dear Sans-Cravate; has she got the smallpox?"
"Oh! I haven't seen anything of her for a long time," replied
Sans-Cravate, with a frown; "nor thought of her, either."
"Oho! did she do--what I mentioned just now?"
"Apparently."
"Come, come! let's not talk about Bastringuette," cried Jean Ficelle.
"You see, Laboussole, that it puts my comrade out of sorts."
"Oh! excuse me, my boys, excuse me! I was thoughtless; it was my
friendship for you that misled me. Let's have a drink!"
"What's your position in the flea business, eh?"
"A very fine one--I am an inspector. We send clerks ahead to attend to
destroying the insects; then I arrive at the house of the insured, I
inspect the premises, I search everywhere; and after my visit, I defy
you to find anything there at all."
"Are you required to have a moustache in your position, that you let
yours grow?"
"It isn't absolutely required, but in all the best places moustaches are
worn, and I felt that I owed that to myself. Your health, my bucks! To
my pleasure at being in the bosom of my friends once more!"