That day, Bouthemont was the first to arrive at Madame Desforges's four
o'clock tea. Waiting alone in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the
brasses and brocatel of which shone with a clear gaiety, she rose with
an air of impatience, saying, "Well?"
"Well," replied the young man, "when I told him that I should no doubt
call on you he formally promised me to come."
"You made him thoroughly understand that I expected the baron to-day?"
"Certainly. That's what appeared to decide him."
They were speaking of Mouret, who, the year before, had suddenly
taken such a liking to Bouthemont that he had admitted him to share
his pleasures; and had even introduced him to Henriette, glad to have
an agreeable fellow always at hand to enliven an acquaintanceship of
which he was getting tired. It was thus that Bouthemont had ultimately
become the confidant of his employer and the handsome widow; he did
their little errands, talked of the one to the other, and sometimes
reconciled them. Henriette, in her jealous fits, displayed a
familiarity which sometimes surprised and embarrassed him, for she was
losing the prudence of a woman of the world who employed all her art to
save appearances.
"You ought to have brought him," she exclaimed violently. "I should
have been sure then."
"Well," said he, with a good-natured laugh, "it isn't my fault if he
escapes so frequently now. Oh! he's very fond of me, all the same. Were
it not for him I should be in a bad way at the shop."
His situation at The Ladies' Paradise had really been menaced since
the last stock-taking. It was in vain that he talked of the rainy
season, they could not overlook the considerable stock of fancy silks
left on hand; and as Hutin was improving the occasion--undermining him
with the governors with an increase of sly ferocity--he could feel the
ground giving way beneath him. Mouret had condemned him, weary already,
no doubt, of this witness who prevented him from breaking off with
Henriette and tired of an acquaintanceship which yielded no profit.
But, in accordance with his usual tactics, he was pushing Bourdoncle
forward: it was Bourdoncle and the other partners who insisted on
Bouthemont's dismissal at each board meeting; whilst he according to
his own account resisted then, defending his friend energetically, at
the risk even of getting into serious trouble with the others.
"Well, I shall wait," resumed Madame Desforges. "You know that the girl
is to be here at five o'clock. I want to see them face to face. I must
discover their secret."
And thereupon she reverted to her long-meditated plan, mentioning in
her agitation that she had requested Madame Aurélie to send her Denise
to look at a mantle which fitted badly. When she should once have got
the young girl in her room, she would find some reason for calling
Mouret, and would then act. Bouthemont, who had sat down opposite to
her, was gazing at her with his handsome laughing eyes, which he was
endeavouring to keep serious. This jovial fellow, with coal-black
beard, this dissipated blade whose warm Gascon blood empurpled his
cheeks, was thinking that fine ladies were not of much account after
all, and let out a nice lot of things when they ventured to open their
hearts.
"Come," he made bold to say at last, "what can that matter to you since
I assure you that there is nothing whatever between them?"
"Just so!" she cried, "it's because he loves her! I don't care a fig
for the others, the chance acquaintances, the friends of a day!"
She spoke of Clara with disdain. She was well aware that Mouret, after
Denise's rejection, had fallen back on that tall, red-haired girl, with
the horse's head: and he had done this doubtless by calculation; for he
maintained her in the department, loading her with presents. Moreover
for the last three months he had been leading a terribly dissipated
life, squandering his money in costly and stupid caprices, with a
prodigality which caused many remarks.
"It's that creature's fault," repeated Henriette. "I feel sure he's
ruining himself with others because she repulses him. Besides, what's
his money to me? I should have preferred him poor. You know how fond I
am of him, you who have become our friend."
She stopped short, half choking, ready to burst into tears; and, in her
emotion, she held out her hands to him. It was true, she adored Mouret
for his youth and his triumphs, never before had any man thus conquered
her; but, at the thought of losing him, she also heard the knell of her
fortieth year, and asked herself with terror how she should replace
this great affection.
"I'll have my revenge," she murmured, "I'll have my revenge, if he
behaves badly!"
Bouthemont continued to hold her hands in his. She was still handsome.
But hers would be a troublesome acquaintance to keep up and he did not
care for that style of woman. The matter, however, deserved thinking
over; perhaps it would be worth his while to risk some annoyance.
"Why don't you set up on your own account?" she asked all at once,
drawing her hands away.
For a moment he was astonished. Then he replied: "But it would require
an immense sum. Last year I had such an idea in my head. I feel
convinced that there are enough customers in Paris for one or two
more big shops; but the district would have to be well chosen. The
Bon Marché holds the left side of the river; the Louvre occupies the
centre of the city; we monopolize, at The Paradise, the rich west-end
district. There remains the north, where one might start a rival
establishment to the Place Clichy. And I had discovered a splendid
position, near the Opera House----"
"Well, why not?" she asked.
He set up a noisy laugh. "Just fancy," he replied, "I was stupid enough
to go and talk to my father about it. Yes, I was simple enough to ask
him to find me some shareholders at Toulouse."
And he gaily described the anger of the old man who remained buried
in his little country shop, full of rage against the great Parisian
bazaars. Bursting at the thought of the thirty thousand francs a year
which his son earned, he had replied that he would sooner give his
money and that of his friends to the hospitals than contribute a copper
to one of those great establishments which were the pests of trade.
"Besides," the young man concluded, "it would require millions."
"Suppose they were found?" observed Madame Desforges, quietly.
He looked at her, becoming serious all at once. Was not this merely a
jealous woman's remark? However, she did not give him time to question
her, but added: "In short, you know what a great interest I take in
you. We'll talk about it again."
The outer bell had just rung. She got up, and he, himself, drew back
his chair with an instinctive movement, as if some one might have
surprised them. Silence reigned in the drawing-room with its gay
hangings, and decorated with such a profusion of green plants that
there was like a small wood between the two windows. Henriette stood
waiting, with her ear towards the door.
"It is he," she murmured.
The footman announced Monsieur Mouret and Monsieur de Vallagnosc.
Henriette could not restrain a movement of anger. Why had he not come
alone? He must have gone for his friend, fearful of a _tête-à-tête_
with her. However, she smiled and shook hands with both men.
"What a stranger you are becoming! I say the same for you, Monsieur de
Vallagnosc."
Her great grief was that she was getting stout, and she now squeezed
herself into the tightest fitting black silk dresses, in order to
conceal her increasing corpulency. Yet her pretty head, with its dark
hair, preserved its pleasing shapeliness. And Mouret could familiarly
tell her, as he enveloped her with a look: "It's useless to ask after
your health. You are as fresh as a rose."
"Oh! I'm almost too well," she replied. "Besides, I might have died;
you would have known nothing about it."
She was examining him also, and thought that he looked tired and
nervous, his eyes heavy, his complexion livid.
"Well," she resumed, in a tone which she endeavoured to render
agreeable, "I cannot return your compliment; you don't look at all well
this evening."
"Overwork!" remarked Vallagnosc.
Mouret shrugged his shoulders, without replying. He had just caught
sight of Bouthemont, and nodded to him in a friendly way. During their
closer intimacy he himself had been wont to take him away from the
department, and bring him to Henriette's during the busiest moments
of the afternoon. But times had changed; and he now said to him in an
undertone:
"You went away very early. They noticed your departure, and are furious
about it."
He referred to Bourdoncle and the other persons who had an interest in
the business, as if he were not himself the master.
"Ah!" murmured Bouthemont, anxiously.
"Yes, I want to talk to you. Wait for me, we'll leave together."
Henriette had now sat down again; and, while listening to Vallagnosc,
who was announcing that Madame de Boves would probably pay her a
visit, she did not take her eyes off Mouret. The latter, again silent,
gazed at the furniture, and seemed to be looking for something on the
ceiling. Then, as she laughingly complained that she now only had
gentlemen at her four o'clock tea, he so far forgot himself as to blurt
out:
"I expected to find Baron Hartmann here."
Henriette turned pale. No doubt she well knew that he merely came to
her house to meet the baron; still he might have avoided throwing his
indifference in her face like that. At that moment the door had opened
and the footman was standing behind her. When she had interrogated him
by a sign, the servant leant over and said in a very low tone:
"It's for that mantle. Madame wished me to let her know. The young
woman is there."
Henriette at once raised her voice, so as to be heard; and all her
jealous suffering found relief in these scornfully harsh words: "She
can wait!"
"Shall I show her into madame's dressing-room?" asked the servant.
"No, no. Let her stay in the ante-room!"
And, when the servant had gone, she quietly resumed her conversation
with Vallagnosc. Mouret, who had relapsed into his former lassitude,
had listened in an absent-minded way, without understanding, while
Bouthemont, worried by the adventure, remained buried in thought.
Almost at that moment, however, the door was opened again, and two
ladies were shown in.
"Just fancy," said Madame Marty, "I was alighting at the door, when I
saw Madame de Boves coming along under the arcade."
"Yes," explained the latter, "it's a fine day, and my doctor says I
must take walking exercise."
Then, after a general hand-shaking, she inquired of Henriette: "So
you're engaging a new maid?"
"No," replied the other, astonished. "Why?"
"Because I've just seen a young woman in the ante-room."
Henriette interrupted her, laughing. "It's true; all those shop-girls
look like ladies' maids, don't they? Yes, it's a young person come to
alter a mantle."
Mouret gazed at her intently, a suspicion flashing across his mind. But
she went on with a forced gaiety, explaining that she had bought the
mantle in question at The Ladies' Paradise during the previous week.
"What!" asked Madame Marty, "have you deserted Sauveur, then?"
"No, my dear, but I wished to make an experiment. Besides, I was pretty
well satisfied with a first purchase I made--a travelling cloak. But
this time it has not succeeded at all. You may say what you like, one
is horribly rigged out in the big shops. I speak out plainly, even
before Monsieur Mouret. He will never know how to dress a woman who is
in the least degree stylish."
Mouret did not defend his establishment, but still kept his eyes on
her, consoling himself with the thought that she would never have dared
to do what he had suspected. And it was Bouthemont who had to plead the
cause of The Ladies' Paradise.
"If all the aristocratic ladies who patronize us were to proclaim
it," he retorted gaily, "you would be astonished by the names of our
customers. Order a garment to measure at our place, it will equal one
from Sauveur's and cost you but half the money. But there, just because
it's cheaper, it's not so good."
"So it doesn't fit, the mantle you speak of?" resumed Madame de
Boves. "Ah! now I remember the young person. It's rather dark in your
ante-room."
"Yes," added Madame Marty, "I was wondering where I had seen that
figure before. Well! go, my dear, don't stand on ceremony with us."
Henriette assumed a look of disdainful unconcern. "Oh, presently, there
is no hurry."
Then the ladies continued the discussion on the garments sold at the
large establishments; and afterwards Madame de Boves spoke of her
husband, who, said she, had gone to inspect the stud-farm at Saint-Lô;
while at the same time Henriette related that, owing to the illness of
an aunt, Madame Guibal had been suddenly called into Franche-Comté.
Moreover, she did not reckon that day on seeing Madame Bourdelais
either, for at the end of every month the latter shut herself up
with a needlewoman to look over her young people's clothes. Madame
Marty, meantime, seemed agitated by some secret trouble. Her husband's
position at the Lycée Bonaparte was menaced, in consequence of the
lessons which the poor man gave in certain private establishments where
a regular trade was carried on in B.A. diplomas; he now feverishly
earned money wherever he could, in order to meet the rage for spending
which was pillaging his household; and his wife, on seeing him weeping
one evening from fear of dismissal, had conceived the idea of asking
her friend Henriette to speak to a director at the Ministry of Public
Instruction with whom she was acquainted. Henriette finished by
quieting her with a few words. Monsieur Marty, however, was coming
himself that afternoon to learn his fate and thank her.
"You look unwell, Monsieur Mouret," all at once observed Madame de
Boves.
"Overwork!" repeated Vallagnosc, with ironic apathy.
Mouret quickly rose as if ashamed of forgetting himself in this
fashion. He took his accustomed place in the midst of the ladies, and
recovered all his agreeable manners. He was now busy with the winter
novelties, and spoke of a considerable arrival of lace, whereupon
Madame de Boves questioned him as to the price of Alençon point: she
felt inclined to buy some. She was, however, now obliged to be sparing
of even thirty sous for a cab fare and would return home quite ill from
the effects of stopping before the displays in the shop windows. Draped
in a mantle which was already two years old, she tried, in imagination,
on her queenly shoulders all the most expensive garments she saw;
and it was as though they had been torn from off her when she awoke
and found herself still wearing her patched-up dresses, without the
slightest hope of ever satisfying her passion.
"Baron Hartmann," now announced the footman.
Henriette observed with what pleasure Mouret shook hands with the new
arrival. The latter bowed to the ladies, and glanced at the young man
with that subtle expression which sometimes illumined his big Alsatian
face.
"Always plunged in dress!" he murmured, with a smile; and like a friend
of the house, he ventured to add: "There's a charming young person in
the ante-room. Who is she?"
"Oh! nobody," replied Madame Desforges, in her ill-natured voice. "Only
a shop-girl waiting to see me."
The door had remained half-open as the servant was bringing in the tea.
He went out, came in again, placed the china service on the table and
then brought some plates of sandwiches and biscuits. In the spacious
room, a bright light, softened by the green plants, illumined the
brass-work, and bathed the silk hangings in a tender glow; and each
time the door opened one could perceive a dim corner of the ante-room,
which was only lighted by two ground-glass windows. There, in the
gloom, appeared a sombre form, motionless and patient. Denise was
standing; there was indeed a leather-covered bench there, but a feeling
of pride prevented her from sitting down on it. She felt the insult
intended her. She had been there for the last half-hour, without a
sign, without a word. The ladies and the baron had taken stock of her
in passing; she could now just hear the voices from the drawing-room;
all the pleasant luxury wounded her with its indifference; and still
she did not move. Suddenly, however, through the half-open doorway, she
perceived Mouret; and he, on his side, had at last guessed it to be her.
"Is it one of your saleswomen?" asked Baron Hartmann.
Mouret had succeeded in concealing his great distress of mind; still
his voice trembled somewhat with emotion: "No doubt; but I don't know
which."
"It's the little fair girl from the mantle department," replied Madame
Marty, obligingly, "the second-hand, I believe."
Henriette looked at Mouret in her turn.
"Ah!" said he, simply.
And then he tried to change the conversation, speaking of the fêtes
that were being given to the King of Prussia who had arrived in Paris
the day before. But the baron maliciously reverted to the young ladies
in the big establishments. He pretended to be desirous of gaining
information, and put several questions: Where did they come from
in general? Was their conduct as bad as it was said to be? Quite a
discussion ensued.
"Really," he repeated, "you think them well-behaved?"
Mouret defended their conduct with a conviction which made Vallagnosc
smile. Bouthemont then interfered, to save his chief. Of course, there
were some of all sorts, bad and good, though they were all improving.
Formerly they had secured nothing but the refuse of the trade; a poor,
doubtful class of girls who had drifted into the drapery business;
whereas now respectable families in the Rue de Sèvres positively
brought up their daughters for the Bon Marché. In short, when they
liked to conduct themselves well, they could; for they were not, like
the work-girls of Paris, obliged to board and lodge themselves; they
had bed and board given them, their existence, though an extremely hard
one, no doubt, was at all events provided for. The worst was their
neutral, ill-defined position, something between the shopwoman and
the lady. Thrown into the midst of luxury, often without any primary
instruction, they formed a nameless class apart from all others. Their
misfortunes and vices sprang from that.
"For myself," said Madame de Boves, "I don't know any creatures who are
more disagreeable. Really, one could slap them at times."
And then the ladies vented their spite. Quite a battle was waged at the
shop-counters, where woman was pitted against woman in a sharp rivalry
of wealth and beauty. There was the sullen jealousy of the saleswomen
towards the well-dressed customers, the ladies whose manners they tried
to imitate, and there was a still stronger feeling on the part of the
poorly-dressed customers, those of the lower middle-class, against the
saleswomen, those girls arrayed in silk, from whom they would have
liked to exact a servant's humility even in the serving of a half franc
purchase.
"Don't speak of them," said Henriette, by way of conclusion, "they are
a wretched lot as worthless as the goods they sell!"
Mouret had the strength to smile. The baron was looking at him, so
touched by his graceful command over himself that he changed the
conversation, returning to the fêtes that were being given to the
King of Prussia: they would be superb, said he, the whole trade of
Paris would profit by them. Henriette meanwhile remained silent and
thoughtful, divided between the desire to let Denise remain forgotten
in the ante-room, and the fear that Mouret, now aware of her presence,
might go away. At last she rose from her chair.
"You will allow me?" said she.
"Certainly, my dear!" replied Madame Marty. "I will do the honours of
the house for you."
She got up, took the teapot, and filled the cups. Henriette turned
towards Baron Hartmann, saying: "You will stay a few minutes, won't
you?"
"Yes; I want to speak to Monsieur Mouret. We are going to invade your
little drawing-room."
She went out, and her black silk dress, in rustling against the door,
made a noise like that of a snake wriggling through brushwood. The
baron at once manœuvred to carry Mouret off, leaving the ladies to
Bouthemont and Vallagnosc. Then they stood talking before the window
of the other room in a low tone. A fresh affair was in question.
For a long time past Mouret had cherished a desire to realize his
former project, the invasion of the whole block of building from
the Rue Monsigny to the Rue de la Michodière and from the Rue
Neuve-Saint-Augustin to the Rue du Dix-Décembre, by The Ladies'
Paradise. Of this enormous square there still remained a large plot
of ground fronting the last named street, which he had not acquired;
and this sufficed to spoil his triumph, he was tormented by a desire
to complete his conquest, to erect there a sort of apotheosis, a
monumental façade. As long as his principal entrance should remain in
the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, in a dark street of olden Paris, his work
would be incomplete, deficient in logic. He wished to set it up face to
face with new Paris, in one of those modern avenues through which the
busy multitude of the end of the nineteenth century passed in the full
glare of the sunlight. He could imagine it dominating, imposing itself
as the giant palace of commerce, casting even a greater shadow over
the city than the old Louvre itself. But hitherto he had been baulked
by the obstinacy of the Crédit Immobilier, which still clung to its
first idea of building a rival establishment to the Grand Hôtel on the
site in question. The plans were ready, they were only waiting for the
clearing of the Rue du Dix-Décembre to begin digging the foundations.
At last, however, by a supreme effort, Mouret had almost convinced
Baron Hartmann.
"Well!" the latter began, "we had a board-meeting yesterday, and I came
to-day, thinking I should meet you, and wishing to keep you informed.
They still resist."
The young man allowed a nervous gesture to escape him. "But it's
ridiculous. What do they say?"
"Dear me! they say what I have said to you myself, and what I am still
inclined to think. Your façade is only an ornament, the new buildings
would only increase the area of your establishment by about a tenth,
and it would be throwing away immense sums on a mere advertisement."
At this, Mouret burst out. "An advertisement! an advertisement! In any
case this one would be in stone, and outlive all of us. Just consider
that it would increase our business tenfold! We should see our money
back in two years. How can ground be lost if it returns you an enormous
interest! You will see what crowds we shall have when our customers are
no longer obliged to struggle through the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin,
but can pass freely down a thoroughfare broad enough for six carriages
abreast."
"No doubt," replied the baron, laughing. "But you are a poet in your
way, let me tell you once more. These gentlemen think it would be
dangerous for you to extend your business further. They want to be
prudent for you."
"How! prudent? I no longer understand. Don't the figures show the
constant increase in our sales? At first, with a capital of five
hundred thousand francs, I did business to the extent of two millions,
turning over the capital four times every year. It then became four
million francs, which, turned over ten times, produced business to the
extent of forty millions. In short, after successive increases, I have
just learnt, from the last stock-taking, that the business done now
amounts to a total of eighty millions; the capital, which has only been
slightly increased--for it does not exceed six millions--has passed
over our counters, in the form of goods sold, more than twelve times in
the year!"
He raised his voice and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the
palm of his left, knocking down those millions as he might have cracked
nuts. The baron interrupted him. "I know, I know. But you don't hope to
keep on increasing in this way, do you?"
"Why not?" asked Mouret, ingenuously. "There's no reason why it
should stop. The capital can be turned over as many as fifteen times,
I predicted as much long ago. In certain departments it can even be
turned over twenty-five or thirty times. And after? well! after, we'll
find a means of turning it over still more."
"So you'll finish by swallowing up all the money in Paris, as you'd
swallow a glass of water?"
"Most decidedly. Doesn't Paris belong to the women, and don't the women
belong to us?"
The baron laid his hands on Mouret's shoulders, looking at him with a
paternal air. "Listen, you're a fine fellow, and I like you. There's
no resisting you. We'll go into the matter seriously, and I hope to
make them listen to reason. So far, we are perfectly satisfied with
you. Your dividends astonish the Bourse. You must be right; it will
be better to put more money into your business, than to risk this
competition with the Grand Hôtel, which is hazardous."
Mouret's excitement at once subsided and he thanked the baron, but
without any of his usual enthusiasm; and the other saw him turn his
eyes towards the door of the next room, again a prey to the secret
anxiety which he was concealing. Meanwhile Vallagnosc had come up, on
seeing that they had finished talking business. He stood close to them,
listening to the baron, who, with the air of an old man who had seen
life, was muttering: "I say, I fancy they're taking their revenge."
"Who?" asked Mouret in embarrassment.
"Why, the women. They're getting tired of belonging to you, and you now
belong to them, my dear fellow: it's only just!"
Then he joked him, well aware as he was of the young man's notorious
love affairs. The enormous sums squandered by Mouret in costly and
stupid caprices, amused him as an excuse for the follies which he had
formerly committed himself. His old experience rejoiced to think that
men had in no wise changed.
"Really, I don't understand you," repeated Mouret.
"Oh! you understand well enough," answered the baron. "They always get
the last word. In fact, I thought to myself: It isn't possible, he's
boasting, he can't be so strong as that! And now there you are! So
though you obtain all you can from woman and work her as you would a
coal mine, it's simply in order that she may work you afterwards, and
force you to refund! And take care, for she'll draw more money from you
than you have ever drawn from her."
He laughed louder still, and Vallagnosc standing by also began to grin,
without, however, saying a word.
"Dear me! one must have a taste of everything," confessed Mouret,
pretending to laugh as well. "Money is worthless, if it isn't spent."
"As for that, I agree with you," resumed the baron. "Enjoy yourself, my
dear fellow. I'll not be the one to preach to you, or to tremble for
the great interests we have confided to your care. Every one must sow
his wild oats, and his head is generally clearer afterwards. Besides,
there's nothing unpleasant in ruining one's self when one feels capable
of building up another fortune. But if money is nothing, there are
certain sufferings----"
He stopped and his smile became sad; former sufferings doubtless
returned to his mind amid the irony of his scepticism. He had watched
the duel between Henriette and Mouret with the curiosity of a man who
still felt greatly interested in other people's love battles; and he
divined that the crisis had arrived, he guessed the pending drama,
being well acquainted with the story of that girl Denise whom he had
seen in the ante-room.
"Oh! as for suffering, that's not in my line," said Mouret, in a tone
of bravado. "It's quite enough to have to pay."
The baron looked at him for a moment without speaking. And not wishing
to insist on the subject he added, slowly--"Don't make yourself out to
be worse than you are! You'll lose something else besides your money.
Yes, you'll lose a part of yourself, my dear fellow."
Then he broke off again, laughing, to ask: "That often happens, does it
not, Monsieur de Vallagnosc?"
"So they say, baron," the latter merely replied.
Just at this moment the door opened. Mouret, who was about to answer
in his turn, started slightly, and both he and his companions turned
round. It was Madame Desforges who, looking very gay, had put her head
through the doorway to call, in a hurried voice--"Monsieur Mouret!
Monsieur Mouret!" And then perceiving the others, she added, "Oh!
you'll excuse me, won't you, gentlemen? I'm going to take Monsieur
Mouret away for a minute. The least he can do, as he has sold me such
a frightful mantle, is to give me the benefit of his experience. This
girl is a stupid thing without an idea in her head. Come, come! I'm
waiting for you."
He hesitated, undecided, flinching from the scene he could foresee.
However, he had to obey.
"Go, my dear fellow, go, madame wants you," the baron said to him, with
his air at once paternal and mocking.
Thereupon Mouret followed her. The door closed, and he thought he could
hear Vallagnosc's laugh, muffled by the hangings. His courage was
entirely exhausted. Since Henriette had quitted the drawing-room, and
he had known Denise to be there in jealous hands, he had experienced a
growing anxiety, a nervous torment, which made him listen from time to
time, as if suddenly startled by a distant sound of weeping. What could
that woman invent to torture her? And all his love, that love which
surprised him even now, went forth to the girl like a support and a
consolation. Never before had he loved like this, found such a powerful
charm in suffering. His former affections, his love for Henriette
herself--so delicate, so handsome, so flattering to his pride--had
never been more than agreeable pastimes; whereas nowadays his heart
beat with anguish, his life was taken, he could no longer even enjoy
the forgetfulness of sleep. Denise was ever in his thoughts. Even at
this moment she was the sole object of his anxiety, and he was telling
himself that he preferred to be there to protect her, notwithstanding
his fear of some regrettable scene with the one he was following.
At first, they both crossed the bed-room, silent and empty. Then
Madame Desforges, pushing open a door, entered the dressing-room, with
Mouret behind her. It was a rather large room, hung with red silk and
furnished with a marble toilet table and a large wardrobe with three
compartments and great glass doors. As the window overlooked the
court-yard, it was already rather dark, and the two nickel-plated gas
burners on either side of the wardrobe had been lighted.
"Now, let's see," said Henriette, "perhaps we shall get on better."
On entering, Mouret had found Denise standing upright, in the middle
of the bright light. She was very pale, modestly dressed in a cashmere
jacket, with a black hat on her head; and she was holding the mantle
purchased at The Ladies' Paradise. When she saw the young man her hands
slightly trembled.
"I wish Monsieur Mouret to judge," resumed Henriette. "Just help me,
mademoiselle."
Then Denise, approaching, had to give her the mantle. She had already
placed some pins on the shoulders, the part that did not fit. Henriette
turned round to look at herself in the glass.
"Is it possible? Speak frankly," said she.
"It really is a failure, madame," replied Mouret, to cut the matter
short. "It's very simple; the young lady will take your measure, and we
will make you another."
"No, I want this one, I want it immediately," she resumed with
vivacity. "But it's too narrow across the chest, and it forms a ruck
at the back between the shoulders." Then, in her sharpest voice, she
added: "It's no use for you to stand looking at me, mademoiselle, that
won't make it any better! Try and find a remedy. It's your business."
Denise again commenced to place the pins, without saying a word. This
went on for some time: she had to pass from one shoulder to the other,
and was even obliged to go almost on her knees, in order to pull the
mantle down in front. Above her, placing herself entirely in her hands,
was Madame Desforges, imparting to her face the harsh expression of a
mistress exceedingly difficult to please. Delighted to lower the young
girl to this servant's work, she gave her curt orders, watching the
while for the least sign of suffering on Mouret's face.
"Put a pin here! No! not there, here, near the sleeve. You don't seem
to understand! That isn't it, there's the ruck showing again. Take
care, you're pricking me now!"
Twice again did Mouret vainly attempt to interfere, in order to put
an end to this scene. His heart was beating violently from this
humiliation of his love; and he loved Denise more than ever, with
a deep tenderness, in presence of her admirably silent and patient
demeanour. If the girl's hands still trembled somewhat, at being
treated in this way before his face, she nevertheless accepted the
necessities of her position with the proud resignation of one who was
courageous. When Madame Desforges found they were not likely to betray
themselves, she tried another device: she began to smile on Mouret,
treating him openly as a lover. The pins having run short, she said to
him:
"Look, my dear, in the ivory box on the dressing-table. Really! it's
empty? Well, kindly look on the chimney-piece in the bed-room; you
know, just beside the looking-glass."
She spoke as if he were quite at home there, and knew where to find
everything. And when he came back with a few pins, she took them one by
one, and forced him to remain near her, looking at him the while and
speaking low: "I don't fancy I'm hump-backed, eh? Give me your hand,
feel my shoulders, just to please me. Am I really made like that?"
Denise slowly raised her eyes, paler than ever, and in silence set
about placing the pins. Mouret could only see her heavy blonde tresses,
twisted at the back of her delicate neck; but by the slight tremor
which was raising them, he could imagine the uneasiness and shame of
her face. Hereafter she would most certainly repulse him, and send
him back to this woman who did not conceal her affection even before
strangers. Brutal thoughts came into his head, he could have struck
Henriette. How was he to stop her talk? How tell Denise that he adored
her, that she alone existed for him at this moment, and that he was
ready to sacrifice for her all his former caprices of a day? The worst
of women would not have indulged in the equivocal familiarities of this
well-born lady. At last he withdrew his hand, saying:
"You are wrong in being so obstinate, madame, since I myself consider
the garment to be a failure."
One of the gas jets was hissing; and in the stuffy, moist air of the
room, nothing else was heard but that ardent sibilant breath. On the
red silk hangings the glass-doors of the wardrobe cast broad sheets
of vivid light in which the shadows of the two women played. A bottle
containing some essence of verbena, which had been left uncorked
inadvertently, emitted a vague expiring odour of fading flowers.
"There, madame, that is all I can do," at last said Denise, rising up.
She felt thoroughly worn out. Twice had she run the pins into her
fingers, as if blind, her eyes clouded. Was he in the plot? Had he
sent for her, to avenge himself for her refusal by showing her that
other women had affection for him? This thought chilled her; she could
not remember having ever stood in need of so much courage, not even
during the terrible hours of her life when she had lacked bread. It was
comparatively nothing to be humiliated in this way, but to see him so
unconstrained with that other woman was dreadful. Henriette looked at
herself in the glass, and once more burst into harsh words.
"What nonsense, mademoiselle! It fits worse than ever. Just see how
tight it is across the chest. I look like a wet nurse!"
Denise, losing all patience thereupon made a rather unfortunate remark:
"You are rather stout, madame. We cannot make you thinner than you are."
"Stout! stout!" exclaimed Henriette, turning pale in her turn. "You're
becoming insolent now, mademoiselle. Really, I should advise you to
criticize others!"
They both stood looking at one another, face to face, and trembling.
There was now neither lady nor shop-girl left. They were simply two
women, made equal by their rivalry. The one had violently taken off the
mantle and cast it on a chair, whilst the other was throwing on the
dressing-table the few pins still remaining in her hands.
"What astonishes me," resumed Henriette, "is that Monsieur Mouret
should tolerate such insolence. I thought, sir, that you were more
particular about your employees."
Denise had again recovered her brave, calm manner. "If Monsieur Mouret
keeps me in his employ," she gently replied, "it's because he has no
fault to find. I am ready to apologize to you, if he desires it."
Mouret was listening, excited by this quarrel but unable to find a
word to put a stop to it. He had a great horror of these explanations
between women, whose asperity clashed with his perpetual desire for
grace and refinement. Henriette was seeking to compel him to say
something in condemnation of the girl; and, as he still remained mute
and undecided, she stung him with a final insult:
"Very good, sir. It seems that I must suffer the insolence of your
mistresses in my own house even! A creature you've picked out of some
gutter!"
Two big tears gushed from Denise's eyes. She had been keeping them
back for some time past; but beneath this last insult her whole being
succumbed. And when he saw her weeping like that with a silent,
despairing dignity, never making the slightest attempt at retaliation,
Mouret no longer hesitated; his heart went forth to her full of immense
affection. He took her hands in his and stammered: "Go away quickly, my
child, and forget this house!"
Henriette, perfectly amazed, choking with anger, stood looking at them.
"Wait a minute," he continued, folding up the mantle himself, "take
this garment away. Madame will purchase another one elsewhere. And pray
don't cry any more. You know how greatly I esteem you."
He went with her to the door, which he closed behind her. She had not
said a word; but a pink flame had coloured her cheeks, whilst her eyes
moistened with fresh tears, tears of a delicious sweetness. Henriette,
who was suffocating, had taken out her handkerchief and was crushing
her lips with it. This was a total overthrow of her calculations; she
herself had been caught in the trap she had laid. She was mortified
with herself for having carried matters too far, and bitterly tortured
by jealousy. To be abandoned for such a creature as that! To see
herself disdained before her! Her pride suffered even more than her
affection.
"So, it's that girl you love?" she said painfully, when they were alone.
Mouret did not at once reply; he was walking about from the window to
the door, seeking to stifle his violent emotion. At last, however, he
stopped, and very politely, in a voice which he tried to render frigid,
he replied in all simplicity: "Yes, madame."
The gas jet was still hissing in the stuffy air of the dressing-room.
But the reflections of the glass doors were no longer traversed by
dancing shadows, the room seemed bare and full of profound sadness.
And Henriette suddenly dropped upon a chair, twisting her handkerchief
between her febrile fingers, and, repeating amid her sobs: "Good
heavens! how wretched I am!"
He stood perfectly still, looking at her for several seconds, and then
went quietly away. She, left all alone, wept on in the silence, before
the pins scattered over the dressing-table and the floor.
When Mouret returned to the little drawing-room, he found Vallagnosc
alone, the baron having gone back to the ladies. As he still felt
very agitated, he sat down at the further end of the apartment, on a
sofa; and his friend on seeing him so faint charitably came and stood
before him, to conceal him from curious eyes. At first, they looked
at each other without saying a word. Then, Vallagnosc, who seemed to
be inwardly amused by Mouret's emotion, finished by asking in his
bantering voice: "Are you enjoying yourself?"
Mouret did not appear to understand him at first. But when he
remembered their former conversations on the empty stupidity and
useless torture of life, he replied: "Of course, I've never before
lived so much. Ah! my boy, don't you laugh, the hours that make one
die of grief are by far the shortest!" Then he lowered his voice and
continued gaily, beneath his half-dried tears: "Yes, you know all,
don't you? Between them they have rent my heart. But yet the wounds
they make are nice, almost as nice as kisses. I am thoroughly exhausted
but, no matter, you can't think how I love life! Oh! I shall win her at
last, that little girl who still says no!"
But Vallagnosc once more trotted out his pessimism. What was the good
of working so much if money could not procure everything? He would
precious soon have shut up shop and have given up work on the day he
found that his millions could not even win him the woman he loved!
Mouret, as he listened became grave. But all at once he protested
violently, believing as he did in the all-powerfulness of his will.
"I love her, and I'll win her!" said he. "But even if she escapes
me, you'll see what a place I shall build to cure myself. It will be
splendid, all the same. You don't understand this language, old man,
otherwise you would know that action contains its own recompense. To
act, to create, to struggle against facts, to overcome them or be
overthrown by them, all human health and joy consists in that!"
"A mere way of diverting one's self," murmured the other.
"Well! I prefer diverting myself. As one must die, I would rather die
of passion than boredom!"
They both laughed, this reminded them of their old discussions at
college. Then Vallagnosc, in an effeminate voice, began to parade his
theories of the insipidity of things, making almost a boast of the
immobility and emptiness of his existence. Yes, he would be as bored at
the Ministry on the morrow as he had been on the day before. In three
years he had had a rise of six hundred francs, he was now receiving
three thousand six hundred, barely enough to pay for his cigars. Things
were getting worse than ever, and if he did not kill himself, it was
simply from idleness and a dislike of trouble. On Mouret speaking of
his marriage with Mademoiselle de Boves, he replied that despite the
obstinacy of the aunt in refusing to die, the matter was about to be
concluded; at least, he thought so, the parents were agreed, and he
affected to have no will of his own. What was the use of wishing or not
wishing, since things never turned out as one desired?
And as an example of this he mentioned his future father-in-law, who
had expected to find in Madame Guibal an indolent blonde, the caprice
of an hour, but was now led by her with a whip, like an old horse on
its last legs. Whilst they supposed him to be inspecting the stud at
Saint-Lô, he was squandering his last resources with her in a little
house at Versailles.
"He's happier than you," said Mouret, getting up.
"Oh! rather!" declared Vallagnosc. "Perhaps there's only wrong-doing
that's at all amusing."
Mouret was now himself again. He was thinking about getting away; but
not wishing his departure to resemble a flight he resolved to take
a cup of tea, and therefore went into the big drawing-room with his
friend, both of them in high spirits. When the ladies inquired if the
mantle had been made to fit, Mouret carelessly replied that he had
given it up as a bad job as far as he was concerned. At this the others
seemed astonished, and whilst Madame Marty hastened to serve him,
Madame de Boves accused the shops of never allowing enough material for
their garments.
At last, he managed to sit down near Bouthemont, who had not stirred.
The two were forgotten for a moment, and, in reply to the anxious
questions of Bouthemont, who wished to know what he had to expect,
Mouret did not hesitate any longer, but abruptly informed him that the
board of directors had decided to deprive themselves of his services.
He sipped his tea between each sentence he uttered, protesting all the
while that he was in despair. Oh! a quarrel that he had not even yet
got over, for he had left the meeting beside himself with rage. But
then what could he do? he could not break with those gentlemen about
a simple staff question. Bouthemont, very pale, had to thank him once
more.
"What a terrible mantle," at last observed Madame Marty. "Henriette
can't get over it."
And really the prolonged absence of the mistress of the house had
begun to make every one feel awkward. But, at that very moment, Madame
Desforges appeared.
"So you've given it up as well?" exclaimed Madame de Boves, gaily.
"How do you mean?"
"Why, Monsieur Mouret told us that you could do nothing with it."
Henriette affected the greatest surprise. "Monsieur Mouret was joking,"
said she. "The mantle will fit splendidly."
She appeared very calm and smiling. No doubt she had bathed her eyes,
for they were quite fresh, without the slightest trace of redness.
Whilst her whole being was still trembling and bleeding, she managed
to conceal her torment beneath a mask of smiling, well-bred elegance.
And she offered some sandwiches to Vallagnosc with her usual graceful
smile. Only the baron who knew her so well, remarked the slight
contraction of her lips and the sombre fire which she had not been able
to extinguish in the depths of her eyes. He guessed the whole scene.
"Dear me! each one to her taste," said Madame de Boves, also accepting
a sandwich. "I know some women who would never buy a ribbon except
at the Louvre. Others swear by the Bon Marché. It's a question of
temperament, no doubt."
"The Bon Marché is very provincial," murmured Madame Marty, "and one
gets so crushed at the Louvre."
They had again returned to the big establishments. Mouret had to give
his opinion; he came up to them and affected to be very impartial.
The Bon Marché was an excellent house, solid and respectable; but the
Louvre certainly had a more showy class of customers.
"In short, you prefer The Ladies' Paradise," said the baron, smiling.
"Yes," replied Mouret, quietly. "There we really love our customers."
All the women present were of his opinion. It was indeed just that; at
The Ladies' Paradise, they found themselves as at a sort of private
party, they felt a continual caress of flattery, an overflowing
adoration which made the most dignified of them linger there. The vast
success of the establishment sprang from that gallant fascination.
"By the way," asked Henriette, who wished to appear entirely at her
ease, "what have you done with my protégée, Monsieur Mouret? You
know--Mademoiselle de Fontenailles." And, turning towards Madame
Marty, she explained, "A marchioness, my dear, a poor girl fallen into
poverty."
"Oh," said Mouret, "she earns three francs a day by stitching
pattern-books, and I fancy I shall be able to marry her to one of my
messengers."
"Oh! fie! what a horror!" exclaimed Madame de Boves.
He looked at her, and replied in his calm voice: "Why so, madame? Isn't
it better for her to marry an honest, hard-working messenger than
to run the risk of being picked up by some good-for-nothing fellow
outside?"
Vallagnosc wished to interfere, for the sake of a joke. "Don't push him
too far, madame, or he'll tell you that all the old families of France
ought to sell calico."
"Well," declared Mouret, "it would at least be an honourable end for a
great many of them."
They set up a laugh, the paradox seemed far fetched. But he continued
to sing the praises of what he called the aristocracy of work. A slight
flush had coloured Madame de Boves's cheeks, she was wild at the shifts
to which she was put by her poverty; whilst Madame Marty, on the
contrary, approved what was said, stricken with remorse on thinking of
her poor husband. Just then the footman ushered in the professor, who
had called to take her home. In his thin, shiny frock-coat he looked
more shrivelled than ever by all his hard toil. When he had thanked
Madame Desforges for having spoken for him at the Ministry, he cast at
Mouret the timid glance of a man encountering the evil that is to kill
him. And he was quite confused when he heard the other ask him:
"Isn't it true, sir, that work leads to everything?"
"Work and thrift," replied he, with a slight shiver of his whole body.
"Add thrift, sir."
Meanwhile, Bouthemont had not moved from his chair, Mouret's words
were still ringing in his ears. But at last he got up, and approaching
Henriette said to her in a low tone: "Do you know, he's given me
notice; oh! in the kindest possible manner. But may I be hanged if he
shan't repent it! I've just found my sign, The Four Seasons, and shall
plant myself close to the Opera House!"
She looked at him with a gloomy expression. "Reckon on me, I'm with
you. Wait a minute," she said.
And forthwith she drew Baron Hartmann into the recess of a window, and
boldly recommended Bouthemont to him, as a fellow who would in his
turn revolutionize Paris, by setting up for himself. When she went
on to speak of an advance of funds for her new protégé, the baron,
though now never astonished at anything, could not restrain a gesture
of bewilderment. This was the fourth fellow of genius that she had
confided to him, and he was beginning to feel ridiculous. But he did
not directly refuse, the idea of starting a competitor to The Ladies'
Paradise even pleased him somewhat; for in banking matters he had
already invented this sort of competition, to keep off others. Besides,
the adventure amused him, and he promised to look into the matter.
"We must talk it over to-night," whispered Henriette on returning to
Bouthemont. "Don't fail to call about nine o'clock. The baron is with
us."
At this moment the spacious room was full of chatter. Mouret, still
standing in the midst of the ladies, had recovered his elegant
gracefulness; he was gaily defending himself from the charge of ruining
them in dress and offering to prove by figures that he enabled them
to save thirty per cent on their purchases. Baron Hartmann watched
him, seized with a fraternal admiration. Come! the duel was finished,
Henriette was decidedly beaten, she certainly was not the woman who was
to avenge all the others. And he fancied he could again see the modest
profile of the girl whom he had observed when passing through the
ante-room. She stood there, waiting, alone redoubtable in her sweetness.