"O monsieur! save me! take me with you! protect me from that horrible
Beauvisage, who swore he'd take me away from anyone. Just hear how he's
beating Cadet Finemouche, who's a good fighter himself! My sister was no
fool; she skipped as soon as the fists began to play, and left me to
carry the whole thing on my back; and perhaps she'll go and tell my
mother bad stories about me! I haven't anybody but you to help me,
monsieur; if you won't, I'm a lost girl."
While my waylayer recited her story, pausing only to wipe away the tears
with the back of her hand, I looked at my new acquaintance and tried to
distinguish her features by the dim light of a street lamp.
Her language and her dress speedily informed me what manner of person I
had to deal with: a loose red gown, caught in at the waist with a black
velvet scarf; a round cap with a broad lace border; a colored
neckerchief, tied in front, with a large cross _à la_ Jeannette resting
upon it. Mistake in this instance was impossible: it was perfectly
evident that I had before me a _marchande à éventaire_,[A] or one of
those hucksters whose booths surround the cemetery of the Innocents.
[A] That is to say, a huckster, or peddler, who goes from place to place
with her wares displayed on a tray hung from her shoulders.
My first thought was to see if she was pretty; I found that she was very
good-looking indeed. Her eyes, although filled with tears, had a
sincere, innocent expression which made her interesting at first sight;
her little pout, her grieved air, were softened now and then by a smile
addressed to me; and that smile, which the most accomplished coquette
could not have made more attractive, disclosed two rows of the whitest
teeth, unspoiled by enamel, coral, and all the powders of the perfumer.
However, despite my new acquaintance's beauty, I was very reluctant to
retain her arm, which she had passed through mine. Surely, with such
charming features, she could not deal in fish or meat. I was morally
certain that she sold flowers; but I did not choose to take a flower
girl for my mistress; at the most, I might, if a favorable opportunity
offered, indulge in a whim, a fancy. But I was not in luck that evening,
and I did not propose to try any more experiments. I determined to rid
myself of the girl.
As gently as possible, I detached the arm that was passed through mine;
then I assumed a cold expression and said:
"I am very sorry that I am unable to do what you wish; but I do not know
you; the dispute between Monsieur Beauvisage and Cadet Finemouche
doesn't concern me. Your sister ran away, and you had better do the
same. Your mother may think what she pleases, it is all one to me. It is
after twelve o'clock; I have been walking about the streets long enough,
and I am going home to bed."
"What, monsieur! you refuse! you are going to leave me! Think of
refusing to go a little out of your way to help a poor girl who is in
trouble because of an accident that might happen to anybody. I tell you
again that my mother is quite capable of not letting me in if I go home
without somebody to answer for me who can swear that I am innocent."
"And you expect me to swear to that, do you?"
"Pardine! would that skin your tongue? Besides, you're a fine gentleman,
a swell; she won't dare to fly into a temper before you, and she'll
listen to me. But if I go home alone--what a row! Oh! mon Dieu! how
unlucky I am! I didn't want to go to the Grand Salon at all; I was
afraid of something like this."
And thereupon the tears and sobs began afresh, and she stamped with her
little feet. Perhaps her mother would tear out her hair; that would be
too bad, for it formed a most becoming frame for that frank, artless
countenance. My heart is not made of stone; I was touched by the girl's
distress, and I said to myself: "If, instead of this jacket, she were
dressed in silk or even in merino, if she wore a dainty bonnet instead
of this round cap, and a pretty locket instead of a cross _à la_
Jeannette, I would long ago have offered my services with great zeal; I
would play the gallant and make myself as agreeable as possible; I would
cut myself in two to obtain a hearing, and I would regard it as a favor
if she would allow me to offer her my arm. And shall this modest costume
make me cruel, unfeeling? Shall I refuse to do a trivial favor, which
she implores with tears in her eyes? Ah! that would be bad, very
bad!"--I had been following a grisette and a _grande dame_, who perhaps
were not worth so much notice as this poor child; I had passed the
evening making a fool of myself, and I could certainly devote an hour to
a worthy action. I determined to escort my flower girl to her home.
You see, reader, that I sometimes have good impulses; to be sure, the
girl pleased me much. "All women seem to please you," perhaps you will
say. True, reader; all the pretty ones; and I venture to say that you
are like me.
I drew nearer to my pretty fugitive. She was sitting on a stone, holding
a corner of her apron to her eyes, and sobbing.
"Mademoiselle."
"Mon--monsieur."
"What is your name?"
"Ni-Ni-i-cette, monsieur."
"Well, my little Nicette, have courage; stop crying, and take my arm. I
will take you home to your mother."
"Real--Really?"
She jumped for joy; indeed, I believe that she was on the point of
embracing me; but she contented herself with taking my arm, which she
pressed very close in hers, saying:
"Ah! I was sure that you wouldn't leave me in such a pickle. I'm a good
girl, monsieur; the whole quarter will tell you that Nicette's
reputation's as clear as spring water. But my mother is so ugly! and
then my sister's jealous because she says I make soft eyes at
Finemouche."
"You can tell me all about it on the way. Where are we going?"
"Oh, dear! it's quite a little distance. I have a stand at the
Croix-Rouge, and I live on Rue Sainte-Marguerite, where my mother keeps
a fruit shop."
From Faubourg Montmartre to the Croix-Rouge! that was enough to kill a
man! If only I could find a fiacre! I believe that I would even have
taken François's cabriolet, at the risk of having Belotte take the bit
in her teeth; but no carriage of any sort passed us. I had no choice
but to make the best of it; so I took Nicette by the arm and forced her
to quicken her pace.
"You are a peddler, Nicette," I said; "what do you sell?"
"Bouquets, monsieur; and they're always fresh, I flatter myself."
She was a flower girl; I was sure of it. The certainty restored my
courage to some extent, and made the journey seem less long. I should
not have been flattered to act as escort to a fishwoman; and yet, when
it is a matter of rendering a service, should one be influenced by such
petty considerations? But what can you do? that infernal self-esteem is
forever putting itself forward. Moreover, I am no better than other men;
perhaps I am not so good; you may judge for yourselves.
"Ah! you sell bouquets, do you?"
"Yes, monsieur; and when you want a nice one, come and see me; I will
always have some ready for you, day or night."
"Thanks.--But how does it happen that, living in Faubourg Saint-Germain,
you go to a dance near the Montmartre barrier? I should suppose that you
could find balls enough in your own neighborhood."
"I'll tell you how that happens. My sister Fanchon has a lover,
Finemouche, a brewer, a fine-looking, dark fellow, that all the girls in
the quarter are mad over. My mother says that he's a ne'er-do-well, and
don't want Fanchon to listen to him; but Fanchon's crazy over him, and
she tries all sorts of ways to be with him, on condition that he won't
make love to her except with honest motives. This morning she agreed to
come to Montmartre at dusk, sentimentally, to have a drink of milk. But
she had to make up her mind to take me; mother wouldn't have let her go
alone. We said we were going to see an aunt of ours, who sells oranges
on the boulevard; that was a trick of Fanchon's. I went with her against
my will, especially as Finemouche sometimes gives me a look, that I
don't pay any attention to--on the word of an honest girl!--When we got
to Montmartre we found the brewer, who treated us both to a donkey ride.
After riding round for two hours, I said it was time to turn our toes
toward home; but Finemouche says: 'Let's rest a few minutes at the Grand
Salon--long enough to eat a salad and have a waltz.'--I didn't want to
accept; but my sister likes waltzing and salad, and I had to let her
have her way. So we went to the Grand Salon. Fanchon danced with
Finemouche; so far, everything went well enough. But, as luck would have
it, in comes Beauvisage, a fellow who works in a pork shop on our
street. He's another fellow who makes love to all the girls, and who's
taken it into his head to have a passion for me."
"You don't seem to lack adorers, Nicette."
"I have one or two, but it ain't my fault. God knows, I always receive
'em with my fists closed. But these men! the crueler you are, the more
they hang on! I have shown Monsieur Beauvisage that I don't like his
attentions; I always throw his presents in his face; but it don't make
any difference: just as sure as I leave my stand for a minute, when I
come back I find a sausage among my roses, or a pig's foot on my
footwarmer. Why, the other day, my birthday, he actually came to wish me
many happy returns, with a white pudding, and truffled at that! But all
that don't touch my heart; I told him that I wouldn't have him, before
all the old gossips of the quarter; and I threw his pudding in his
face. He went away in a rage, swearing that he'd kidnap me. So you can
imagine that I shivered with fright when I saw him come into the Grand
Salon, especially as I know what a hot-headed fellow he is.--Would you
believe, monsieur, he had the cheek to ask me to dance, just as if
nothing had happened! I refused him flat, because I ain't two-faced. He
tried to force me to dance; Finemouche came running up and ordered him
to let me alone instantly, at which he held me all the tighter. Cadet
handled him so rough that they went out to fight. My sister Fanchon
blamed me, because it made her mad to have her lover fight for me. But
the worst of it all is that Finemouche, who had drunk a good deal with
his salad, was beaten by Beauvisage. Fanchon ran off as soon as she saw
her lover on the ground; I tried to do the same, but my tormentor ran
after me. At last I caught sight of you, monsieur, and that gave me
courage; I was sure you'd protect me; I grabbed your arm, and that's
all."
Nicette's story interested me; and the thing that pleased me most was
that she seemed to be virtuous and had no lover.--"What difference did
that make to you?" you will say; "as you were a young man in society, of
course you would not make love to a flower girl." True; I had no such
purpose; and yet, I became conscious that for some moments I had been
pressing the girl's arm more tenderly than before. But it was because I
was distraught.
"Do you think my mother will beat me, monsieur?"
"I don't see why she should be angry; you have done nothing wrong."
"Oh! in the first place, we shouldn't have gone to the Grand Salon."
"That was your sister's fault."
"Yes, but she'll say it was mine. And then, I'll tell you something. My
mother's inclined to favor Beauvisage, who shuts her eyes with galantine
and never comes to the house without a chitterling eight inches long.
Mother's crazy over chitterlings, and she'd like to have me marry the
pork man, so that she could always have a pig's pudding on hand. But I
have always refused to hear with that ear, and since then they all look
crosswise at me at home. So they'll lay the quarrel and the whole row on
my shoulders. Oh! mon Dieu! I shall be beaten, I am sure!"
"Poor Nicette! I promise you that I will speak to your mother in your
behalf."
"Oh! I beg you to! You see, she's quite capable of not letting me in,
and making me spend the night in the street! That miserable Beauvisage!
he's the cause of it all! I'd rather jump into the river than be his
wife!"
"Can you say as much about Finemouche?"
"Yes, monsieur; I want a husband to my taste, and I don't like any of
those jokers."
"Then you have no lover?"
"No, monsieur."
"But, at your age, one ought to love."
"Oh! I'm in no hurry. But we're almost there, monsieur, we're almost
there. Ah! how my heart thumps!"
I felt that she was really trembling, and, to encourage her, I took one
of her hands and pressed it. She made no resistance, she was thinking of
nothing but her mother.
At last we reached Rue Sainte-Marguerite; Nicette dared not go any
farther.
"There's the place, monsieur," she said; "that house next to the porte
cochère."
"Well, let us go there."
"Oh! wait just a minute, till I can breathe!"
"Why are you so frightened? Am I not here?"
"Pardine! perhaps mother won't even let you in!"
"We will make her listen to reason."
"That will be hard."
"Your sister is more to blame than you."
"Yes, but she's fond of my sister, and she don't like me."
"Well, we haven't come all this distance not to try our luck."
"That is true, monsieur. Come on, let's go to the house."
We arrived in front of Madame Jérôme's shop; I had learned from Nicette
that that was her mother's name. Everything was tightly closed and
perfectly still; no light could be seen inside the house.
"Does your mother sleep in the shop?"
"Yes, monsieur; at the back."
"We must knock."
"Oh! if only my sister hasn't got home!"
"Let's knock, in any event."
I knocked, for Nicette had not the requisite courage; there was no
reply.
"She sleeps very soundly," I said to the girl.
"Oh, no, monsieur! that means that she don't intend to let me in."
"Parbleu! she'll have to answer."
I knocked again; we heard a movement inside, then someone approached the
door, and a hoarse voice demanded:
"Who's that knocking at this time of night?"
"It's me, mother."
"Ah! it's you, is it, you shameless hussy! and you think I'll let you in
after midnight, when you've been setting men to fighting and turning a
whole quarter upside down! Off with you this minute, and don't ever let
me see you again!"
"Mother! please let me in; my sister has deceived you."
"No, no; I know the whole story. You're a cursed little pig-headed fool!
Ah! you don't choose to be a pork man's wife, don't you? All right! go
and walk the streets; we'll see if you have pig's pudding to eat every
day!"
Nicette wept. I thought that it was time for me to intervene in the
quarrel.
"Madame," I called through the door, in a voice which I tried to make
imposing, "your daughter has done no wrong; you are scolding her most
unjustly; and if you leave her in the street, you will expose her to the
risk of doing what you will regret."
I waited for a reply; none was forthcoming, but I heard someone removing
the iron bars, as if to open the shop. I went up to Nicette.
"You see," said I, "my voice and my remonstrance have produced some
effect. I was certain that I could pacify your mother. Come, dry your
tears; she is coming, and I promise you that I will make her listen to
reason, and that she won't leave you to sleep in the street."
Nicette listened, but she still doubted my ability to obtain her pardon.
Meanwhile, the noise continued, and the door did, in fact, open. Madame
Jérôme appeared on the threshold, wearing a dressing jacket and a
nightcap. I stepped forward to intercede for the girl, who dared not
stir; I was about to begin a sentence which I thought well adapted to
touch a mother's heart, but Madame Jérôme did not give me time.
"So you're the man," she cried, "who brings this boldface home, and
undertakes to preach to me and to teach me how to manage my daughters!
Take that to pay you for your trouble!"
As she spoke, the fruit seller dealt me a buffet that sent me reeling
toward the other side of the street; then she drew back into her shop
and slammed the door in our faces.