It was long after daybreak. People were already going and coming in the
house, and I had not yet ventured to wake Nicette. She was sleeping so
soundly! and the preceding day had been a day of tempest, after which
rest was essential. But I heard a movement at last; she rose, opened the
door, and came toward me, smiling.
"Monsieur, will you allow me to kiss you?"
I understood: that was my reward for my continence during the night, and
it was well worth it. She kissed me with evident pleasure, and I began
to feel the enjoyment that one is likely to feel when one has no
occasion for self-reproach.
"Now, Nicette, let us talk seriously; but, no, let us breakfast first of
all; we can talk quite as well at table. You must feel the need of
something to eat, do you not?"
"Yes, monsieur, I should like some breakfast right well."
"I always keep something on hand for unexpected guests."
"Tell me where everything is, monsieur, and I'll set the table."
"On the sideboard yonder, and in the drawers."
"All right, all right!"
She ran to fetch what we required. In two minutes the table was set. I
admired Nicette's grace and activity; a little maid-servant like that,
I thought, would suit me infinitely better than my concierge, Madame
Dupont, who took care of my rooms. But, apropos of Madame Dupont,
suppose she should appear? We had time enough, however; for it was only
seven o'clock, and the concierge, knowing that I was a little inclined
to be lazy, never came up before eight. So that we could breakfast at
our ease.
"Let us talk a little, Nicette. I am interested in your future; you
cannot doubt that."
"You have proved it, monsieur."
"What are you going to do when you leave me?"
"Go back to my mother."
"That is quite right; but suppose she still refuses to let you in?"
"I will try to find work; I will go out to service, if I must; perhaps I
shall be able to get in somewhere."
"Undoubtedly; but who can say what sort of people you will encounter,
and what hands you will fall into? Young and pretty as you are, you will
find it harder than others might to get a suitable place, if, as I
assume, you mean to remain virtuous."
"Oh! indeed I do mean to remain virtuous, monsieur."
"I know what men are; they are almost all libertines; marriage puts no
curb on their passions. Wherever you take service, your masters will
make you some unequivocal proposals, and will maltreat you if you reject
them."
"Then I will leave the house; I'll hire myself out to a single lady."
"Old maids are exacting, and keep their young servants in close
confinement, for fear that they may walk the streets and make
acquaintances. Young women receive much company, and will set you a
dangerous example."
"How good you talk this morning!"
"Don't wonder at that; a drunkard is a connoisseur in wine, a welcher in
horses, a painter in pictures, a libertine in methods of seduction. For
the very reason that I am not virtuous, I am better able than another to
warn you of the risks you are about to run. Experience teaches. You did
not yield to me, and I desire to preserve you for the future. Don't be
grateful to me for it; very likely, it is simply a matter of self-esteem
on my part, for I feel that it would be distressing to me to see the
profanation of a flower that I have failed to pluck. You understand me,
don't you, Nicette?"
"Yes, yes, monsieur! I'm no prude, and I know what you mean! But don't
be afraid! How could I give another what I refused you?"
She said this with evident feeling and sincerity. Clearly she liked me;
I could not doubt it; she was all the more praiseworthy for having
resisted me.
"After all, my dear girl, I don't see why you shouldn't continue to sell
flowers; it is better suited to you than domestic service."
"That is true, monsieur, but----"
"I understand you. Here, Nicette, take this purse; you may accept it
without a blush, for it is not the price of your dishonor. I am simply
doing you a favor, lending you a little money, if you like that better."
"Oh! monsieur, money--from a young man! What will people think of that?"
"You must not say from whom you got it."
"When a girl suddenly has money in her possession, people think, they
imagine that----"
"Let the gossips chatter, and force them to hold their tongues by the
way you behave."
"My mother----"
"A mother who refuses to support her child has no right to demand an
account of her actions."
"But this purse--you are giving me too much, monsieur."
"The purse contains only three hundred francs; I won it two days ago at
écarté. Really, Nicette, if you knew how easily money is lost at cards,
you would be less grateful to me for this trifle."
"A trifle! three hundred francs! enough to set me up in business! Why,
monsieur, it's a treasure!"
"Yes, to you who know the full value of money, and use it judiciously.
But things are valuable only so long as they are in their proper place."
"All this means, I suppose, that you are very rich?"
"It means that, having been brought up in affluence, accustomed to
gratify all my whims, I am not familiar enough with the value of money.
This three hundred francs that I offer you, I should probably lose at
cards without a pang; so take the money, Nicette; you can give it back
to me, if the day ever comes when I need it."
"Oh, yes! whenever you want it, monsieur; everything I have will always
be at your service."
"I don't doubt it, my dear friend; so that business is settled."
"Yes, monsieur; if my mother sends me away, I'll hire a small room, I'll
buy flowers; I'll be saving and orderly, and perhaps some day I'll get
where I can have a nice little shop of my own."
"Then you will marry according to your taste, and you'll be happy."
"Perhaps so! but let's not talk about that, monsieur."
"Well! time flies; it's nearly eight o'clock, and you must go, Nicette."
"Yes, monsieur, that is true; whenever you say the word. But I--is----"
"What do you want to say?"
"Shan't I see you again?"
"Yes, indeed; I hope to see you often. If you move to another quarter,
you must leave your new address with my concierge."
"Very well, monsieur; I won't fail."
The child was in evident distress; she turned her face away to conceal
her tears. Could it be that she was sorry to leave me? What nonsense! We
had known each other only since the night before! And yet, I too was
unhappy at parting from her.
She was certain to meet one or more servants on the stairs; but what was
she to do? there was no other way out. She promised to go down very
rapidly, and to hurry under the porte cochère.
I kissed her affectionately--too affectionately for a man who had given
her three hundred francs; it was too much like taking compensation for
the gift.
I opened the door leading to the landing, and stood aside to let Nicette
go out first, when a roar of laughter made me look up. That fiendish
Raymond's door was open, and he stood inside with a young woman; that
young woman was Agathe!
It was a contemptible trick. I recognized Raymond's prying curiosity and
Agathe's spirit of mischief. They were on the watch for me, no doubt;
possibly they had been on sentry-go since daybreak. But how did it
happen that Agathe was there? She had never spoken to Raymond. I swore
that he should pay me for his perfidy.
Nicette looked at me, trying to read in my eyes whether she should go
forward or back. It was useless to pretend any longer; perhaps, indeed,
if there were any further delay, Monsieur Raymond would succeed in
collecting a large part of the household on my landing. So I pushed
Nicette toward the stairs.
"Adieu, Monsieur Dorsan!" she said sadly.
"Adieu, adieu, my child! I hope that your mother---- I will see--you
shall hear--perhaps we may--adieu!"
I had no idea what I was saying; anger and vexation impeded my
utterance. But Nicette, who was moved by but one sentiment,--regret at
leaving me,--wiped the tears from her eyes with a corner of her apron.
"Ha! ha! this is really sentimental!" laughed Mademoiselle Agathe, as
she watched the girl go downstairs; "what! tears and sighs! Ha! ha! it's
enough to make one die of laughing! But I should be much obliged to you,
monsieur, if you would tell me how it happened that I was at a ball with
you last night, and disguised, without knowing anything about it. Well!
why don't you speak? don't you hear me?"
My attention was engrossed by another object. My eyes were fastened on
my neighbor, and my steadfast gaze evidently embarrassed him; for, in a
moment, I saw that he turned as red as fire; he began to shift about in
his confusion, tried to smile, and at last returned to his own room,
taking care to lock the door.
"Ah! Monsieur Raymond, I owe you one for this! we shall meet again!" I
said, walking toward his door. Then I turned to answer Mademoiselle
Agathe, but she had entered my apartment; and as she was perfectly
familiar with the locality, I found her in my little study, nonchalantly
reclining on the sofa.
"Do tell me, Eugène, what all this means? Mon Dieu! how things are
changed about! the couch in the study; the bed partly tumbled; the
remains of a breakfast. What happened here last night?"
"Nothing, I assure you."
"Oh! nothing out of the ordinary course, I understand that. But this
couch puzzles me. Tell me about it, Eugène, my little Eugène. Because
you are no longer my lover is no reason why we shouldn't be friends."
You are aware, reader, that Mademoiselle Agathe is the milliner with
whom I had fallen out because I discovered that she was unfaithful to
me. In fact, it was my vexation on her account that had led me to
indulge in those melancholy reflections during my stroll along the
boulevard on the preceding evening. But since then my susceptible heart
had experienced so many new sensations, that the memory of Agathe's
treachery had vanished altogether; I had ceased to regret her,
consequently I was no longer angry with her. I realized that she was
justified in joking me about my serious air, which was not at all
consistent with our former liaison, and which might have led one to
think that I expected to find a Penelope in a young milliner. So I
assumed a more cheerful demeanor, and questioned her in my turn.
"How did you happen to be there on my landing, talking with Raymond,
whom you could never endure?"
"But this couch--this couch here in the study?"
"You shall know all about it, but answer me first."
"Oh! I've no objection; I went into the country yesterday with
Gerville--you know, the young government clerk who lives on the floor
below."
"Yes, my successor, in fact."
"Your successor, call him so. We returned late; I was very tired,
and----"
"You passed the night with him; that's a matter of course, and perfectly
natural, in my opinion. Well?"
"Why, I had to go away this morning. At half-past six, I crept softly
downstairs and was just passing through the porte cochère, when I saw
Raymond standing guard at the corner. He scrutinized me, and smiled
slyly.--'On my word,' he said, 'I didn't believe it was you; you were
perfectly disguised; the fishwoman's costume is very becoming to you,
and yet it changes you amazingly. I'd have sworn that Monsieur Dorsan
was lying to me.'--I listened, without understanding a word; but your
name and what he said aroused my curiosity. I suspected some mistake, so
I forced Raymond to tell me all he knew; I haven't stopped laughing at
it yet. Raymond was delighted when he found out that it wasn't I who was
with you. I asked him if he was certain that your new victim was still
in the house. He said he was; for he had passed most of the night on the
landing, and had gone on duty at the porte cochère at daybreak. So I
came up with him, to make the tableau more interesting; and we waited at
least an hour, until it was your good pleasure to open your door. We
would have stayed there till night, I assure you, rather than not
satisfy our mutual curiosity."
"Gad! what a fellow that Raymond is! An old woman couldn't have done
better."
"Well, I've told my story; now it's your turn."
"What do you want me to tell you? You saw a girl leave my rooms, eh?"
"Yes, she was very pretty; a face that takes your eye; rather a large
mouth. But that costume! What, Monsieur Eugène! you, a dandy of dandies,
caught by a round cap! Why, I no longer recognize you!"
"For what I propose to do, mademoiselle, the question of cap or hat is
of no consequence at all."
"Of course, you don't propose to do anything, because you have done
enough."
"You are mistaken, Agathe. That is an honest, virtuous girl; she is
nothing to me, and never will be."
"What's that? Oh! it's as plain as a pikestaff: she came here to sleep,
so as not to be afraid of the dark; that's all!--
"'Go and see if they're coming, Jean!'"
"I realize that appearances are against us; and yet nothing can be more
true than what I tell you. The explanation as to the couch being in the
study is that she slept in my bedroom, and I slept here."
"For ten minutes, very likely; but after that you joined her."
"No; I swear that I did not."
"You'd never have been donkey enough to stay here."
"I understand that, in your eyes, virtue and innocence are the merest
folly."
"Ah! you are not polite, monsieur. But as I have never known you to be
either virtuous or innocent, I may be permitted to express surprise at
your virtuous qualities, which are entirely unfamiliar to me."
"I am not trying to make myself out any better than I am, and I confess
to you frankly that I attempted to triumph over this girl; but her
resistance was so natural, her tears so genuine, her entreaties so
touching, that I was really deeply moved and almost repented of what I
had tried to do."
"That is magnificent; and I presume that the virtuous and innocent
orange girl came to your rooms in order that her resistance might be the
better appreciated.--Ha! ha! what a fairy tale!"
"You may believe what you choose. It is none the less true that Nicette
is virtuous and that she isn't an orange girl."
"Oh! pardon me, monsieur, if I have unintentionally slighted your
charmer. Mademoiselle Nicette probably sells herring at the Marché des
Innocents?"
"No, mademoiselle; she sells nothing but flowers."
"Flowers! Why, that is superb! Ah! so she's a flower girl! I am no
longer surprised at your consideration for her."
"She certainly deserves more consideration than many women who wear
fashionable bonnets."
"Or who make them, eh?"
"The argument is even stronger as to them."
"Monsieur is vexed because I venture to doubt the virtuous morals of a
girl who comes, very innocently no doubt, to sleep with a young man, who
has himself turned Cato in twenty-four hours! Look you, Eugène, I don't
care what you say, it isn't possible."
"I shall say nothing more, because I attach no value to your opinion."
"Again! No matter, let's make peace; and I will believe, if it will give
you pleasure, that your friend was the Maid of Orleans."
Mademoiselle Agathe came to me and kissed me; she was almost on my
knees; she embraced me very lovingly, and I believe that it rested with
me to betray my successor, but I had no desire so to do. My mind was
still full of Nicette; I was angry with the woman who refused to believe
in her innocence and virtue, and who made sport of my heroic behavior.
When one has had to make such a mighty effort to do a good deed, the
person who seeks to rob us of our satisfaction therein is always
unwelcome. So that I received Mademoiselle Agathe's caress very coolly.
At that, the young milliner took offence in her turn, although she loved
me no more than I loved her; probably she had never loved me; but in
many people self-esteem takes the place of love and, of itself alone,
gives birth to jealousy. Agathe put on her shawl, which she had laid
aside when she came in, tied her bonnet strings, and gave me a courtesy
accompanied by a smile in which she tried to cast an expression of
irony, but in which anger and vexation were clearly marked.
"Adieu, monsieur! I understand that the events of last night must have
fatigued you; you need rest, and a little solitude; I leave you to dream
at your leisure of the brilliant conquest which will furnish you with
constant enjoyment from this time on! I beg you to be good enough to
give my address to Mademoiselle _de_ Nicette; I shall be delighted to
have her custom, in case she should think of changing her style of
dress; unless, however, you intend to take her under your protection in
that modest gown. I can understand that, to a sensitive and loving
heart, the round cap of virtue is preferable to the toque of frivolity."
And Mademoiselle Agathe took her leave, humming:
"'When one knows how to love and please,
What else need one desire?'"