"I am alone, you see, Nicette; you have come to a bachelor's quarters."
"Oh! I don't care about that, monsieur; at any rate, I didn't have any
choice."
"Then you're not afraid to pass the night with me?"
"No, monsieur; I see that you're an honorable man, and that I needn't be
afraid of anything in your rooms."
"Oho! she sees that I am an honorable man!" said I to myself; "in that
case, I must have a very captivating countenance. However, I am not
ill-looking; some women say that I am rather handsome; and this girl
isn't afraid to pass the night with a good-looking bachelor! Perhaps she
thinks me ugly."
These reflections annoyed me; while making them, I looked at Nicette
more closely than I had hitherto been able to do. She was really very
good-looking; a face at once piquant and sweet, and with some
character--absolutely unlike what we ordinarily find in a flower girl:
she had the freshness and charm of her flowers, and she was the daughter
of a fruit peddler, of Mother Jérôme! There are such odd contrasts in
nature; however, I could but acknowledge that chance had been very
favorable to me this time. I began to be quite reconciled to my
evening's entertainment; I forgot the grisette and the
_petite-maîtresse_, to think solely of the charming face at my side.
As I gazed at the girl, I had moved nearer to her; I softly passed my
arm about her waist; and the more favorable the examination, the more
tightly I pressed the red gown.
Nicette did not speak, but she seemed agitated; her bosom rose and fell
more frequently, her respiration became shorter; she kept her eyes on
the floor. Suddenly she extricated herself from my embrace, rose, and
asked me, in a trembling voice, where she was to pass the night.
That question embarrassed me; I admit that I had not yet thought of
that. I glanced at Nicette; her lovely eyes were still fastened on the
floor. Was she afraid to meet mine? Did she love me already? and----
Nonsense! that infernal self-esteem of mine was off at a gallop!
"We have time enough to think about that, Nicette. Do you feel sleepy?"
"Oh, no! it ain't that, monsieur."
"Ah! so there's another reason, is there?"
"I don't want to be in your way; you told me you was tired, too."
"That has all passed away; I have forgotten it."
"Never mind, monsieur; show me where I can pass the night. I'll go into
one of the other rooms. I shall be very comfortable on a chair, and----"
"Pass the night on a chair! Nonsense! you mustn't think of such a
thing!"
"Oh, yes! I ain't hard to suit, monsieur."
"No matter; I shan't consent to that. But sit down, Nicette, there's no
hurry now. Come and sit down. Are you afraid to sit beside me?"
"No, monsieur."
But she took her seat at the other end of the couch. Her blushing face
and her confusion betrayed a part of her sensations. I myself was
embarrassed--think of it! with a flower girl! Indeed, it was just
because she was a flower girl that I didn't know where to begin. I give
you my word, reader, that I should have made much more rapid progress
with a _grande dame_ or a grisette.
"Do you know, Nicette, that you are charming?"
"I have been told so, monsieur."
"You must have many men making love to you?"
"Oh! there's some that try to fool me when they come to buy flowers of
me; but I don't listen to 'em."
"Why do you think that they are trying to fool you?"
"Oh! because they're swells--like you."
"So, if I should mention the word _love_ to you, you would think----"
"That you was making fun of me. Pardi! that's plain enough!"
That beginning was not of good augury. No matter, I continued the
attack, moving gradually nearer the girl.
"I swear to you, Nicette, that I never make fun of anyone!"
"All men say that!"
"Besides, you are quite pretty enough to arouse a genuine passion."
"Yes, a passion of a fortnight! Oh! I ain't to be caught in that trap."
"On my honor, you are too pretty for a flower girl."
"Bah! you are joking."
"If you chose, Nicette, you could find something better to do than
that."
"No, monsieur, no; I don't want to sell anything but bouquets. Oh! I
ain't vain. I refused Beauvisage, who's got money, and who'd have given
me calico dresses, caps _à la glaneuse_, and gilt chains; but all those
things didn't tempt me. When I don't like a person, nothing can make me
change my mind."
She was not covetous; so that it was necessary to win her regard in
order to obtain anything from her. I determined to win her regard. But I
have this disadvantage when I try to make myself agreeable: I never know
what I am saying; that was why I sat for ten minutes without speaking a
word to Nicette, contenting myself with frequent profound sighs and an
occasional cough, to revive the conversation. But Nicette was very
innocent, or perhaps she meant to laugh at me when she said with great
sang-froid:
"Have you got a bad cold, monsieur?"
I blushed at my idiocy; the idea of being so doltish and timid with a
flower seller! Really, I hardly recognized myself.
And the better to recognize myself, I put my arms about Nicette and
tried to draw her into my lap.
"Let go of me, monsieur; let go, I beg you!"
"Why, what harm are we doing, Nicette?"
"I don't want you to squeeze me so tight."
"One kiss, and I'll let you go."
"Just one, all right."
Her consent was necessary, for she was very well able to defend herself;
she was strong and could make a skilful use of her hands and knees; and
as I was not accustomed to contests of that sort, in which our society
ladies give us little practice, I began to think that I should find it
difficult to triumph over the girl.
She gave me permission to kiss her, and I made the most of it; trusting
in my promise, she allowed me to take that coveted kiss, and offered me
her fresh, rosy cheek, still graced with the down of youth and
innocence.
But I desired a still greater privilege; I longed to steal from a lovely
pair of lips a far sweeter kiss. Nicette tried, but too late, to prevent
me. I took one, I took a thousand. Ah! how sweet were those kisses that
I imprinted on Nicette's lips! Saint-Preux found Julie's bitter; but I
have never detected a trace of bitterness in a pretty woman's kisses; to
be sure, I am no Saint-Preux, thank heaven!
A consuming flame coursed through my veins. Nicette shared my emotion; I
could tell by the expression of her eyes, by the quivering of her whole
frame. I sought to take advantage of her confusion to venture still
further; but she repulsed me, she tore herself from my arms, rushed to
the door, and was already on the landing, when I overtook her and caught
her by her skirt.
"Where in heaven's name are you going, Nicette?"
"I am going away, monsieur."
"What's that?"
"Yes, monsieur, I am going away; I see now that I mustn't pass the night
here in your rooms; I wouldn't have believed that you'd take advantage
of my trouble to---- But since I made a mistake, I'm going away."
"Stop, for heaven's sake! Where would you go?"
"Oh! I don't know about that; but it don't make any difference! I see
that I'd be safer in the street than alone here with you."
I felt that I deserved that reproach. The girl was virtuous; she had
placed herself under my protection without distrust; she had asked me
for hospitality, and I was about to take advantage of her helpless
plight, to seduce her! That was contemptible behavior. But I may say, in
my own justification, that I did not know Nicette, and that, for all the
artless simplicity of her language, a young girl who suggests to a man
that she pass the night under his roof certainly lays herself open to
suspicion, especially in Paris, where innocent young maids are so rare.
She still held the door ajar, and I did not relax my grasp of her skirt.
I looked in her face, and saw great tears rolling down her cheeks. Poor
child! it was I who caused them to fall! She seemed prettier to me than
ever; I was tempted to throw myself at her feet and beg her to forgive
me. But what! I, on my knees before a street peddler! Do not be alarmed:
I did not offend the proprieties to that extent.
"I beg you to remain, Nicette," I said, at last.
"No, monsieur; I made a mistake about you; I must go."
"Listen to me; in the first place, you can't go away from the house
alone; at this time of night the concierge opens the door only to those
who give their names."
"Oh! but I remember your name; it's Dorsan."
"It isn't enough to give my name; she would know that it wasn't my
voice."
"All right; then I'll stay in the courtyard till morning."
"Excellent; everybody will see you; and think of the remarks and
tittle-tattle of all the cooks of the quarter! It's bad enough that that
infernal Raymond should have seen you. Come back to my rooms, Nicette; I
promise, yes, I swear, to behave myself and not to torment you."
She hesitated; she looked into my face, and doubtless my eyes told her
all that was taking place in my mind; for she closed the door of the
landing, and smiled at me, saying:
"I believe you, and I'll stay."
In my joy I was going to kiss her again; but I checked myself, and I did
well: oaths amount to so little!
"But, monsieur," she said, "we can't pass the night sitting in your big
easy-chair."
She was quite right; that would have been too dangerous.
"You will sleep in my bed," I replied, "and I will pass the night on the
sofa in my study. No objections, mademoiselle; I insist upon it. You
will be at liberty to double-lock my study door; you can go to sleep
without the slightest fear. Does that suit you?"
"Yes, monsieur."
We went back into my bedroom; I lighted another candle, and carried the
couch into my study, with Nicette's assistance. I confess that that
operation was a painful one to me. However, it was done at last.
"Now you may go to bed and sleep in peace. Good-night, Nicette!"
"Good-night, monsieur!"
I took my candle and retired to my study, closing the door behind me.
There we were, in our respective quarters. I blew out the candle and
threw myself on the couch. If only I could sleep; time passes so quickly
then! And yet, we sleep about a third part of our lives! and we are
always glad to plunge into that oblivion, albeit we stand in fear of
death, which is simply a never-ending sleep, during which it is certain
that one is not disturbed by bad dreams!
Sleep, indeed! In vain did I stretch myself out, and twist and turn in
every direction. I could not sleep; it was impossible. I concluded to
resign myself to the inevitable, and I began to recall the incidents of
my extraordinary evening; I thought of Caroline, of the charming woman
at the theatre, of that infernal cabman. I tried to put Nicette out of
my thoughts; but she constantly returned; I strove in vain to banish
her. The idea that she was close at hand, within a few feet of me, that
only a thin partition separated me from her--that idea haunted me! When
I thought that I might be beside her, that I might hold her in my arms
and give her her first lessons in love and pleasure--then I lost my
head, my blood boiled. Only Nicette's consent was needed to make us
happy, and she would not give it! To be sure, that same happiness might
have results most embarrassing to her.
I had the fidgets in my legs. I rose and paced the floor, but very
softly; perhaps she was asleep, and I would not wake her. Poor child!
she had had trouble enough during the evening, and I was afraid that
still greater trouble was in store for her; for if her mother persisted
in her refusal to take her in, what would she do? Until that moment, I
had not given a thought to her future.
But I had not heard the key turn in the lock; therefore, she had not
locked herself in. That was strange; evidently she relied on my oath.
What imprudence, to believe in a young man's promises!
Was she asleep or not? that was what tormented me. For half an hour I
stood close against the door, turning first one ear, then the other, and
listening intently; but I could hear nothing. I looked through the
keyhole; there was a light in the room; was it from caution, or
forgetfulness?
But she had not locked the door. Ah! perhaps she had locked it without
my hearing it. It was very easy to satisfy myself on that point. I
turned the knob very gently, and the door opened. I stopped, fearing
that I had made a noise. But I heard nothing. If I could see her for a
moment asleep, see her in bed--for there, and only there can one judge a
woman's beauty fairly. I leaned forward; the candle stood on the
commode, at some little distance from the bed. I stepped into the room,
holding my breath, and stood by her side. She was not undressed; I might
have guessed as much. I turned to walk away. Ah! those miserable shoes!
they squeaked, and Nicette awoke. I determined to change my shoemaker.
"Do you want anything, monsieur?" she asked.
"No; that is to say, yes, I--I was looking for a book; but I have found
it."
I returned quickly to my study, feeling that I must have cut a sorry
figure. The door was closed, and I was not tempted to open it again. Ah!
how long that night seemed to me! The day came at last!