I pursued my homeward way, congratulating myself on my little game, and
laughing at the thought of Raymond's fright and of the figure he must
cut waiting for me to rescue him. But soon my mind reverted to a more
agreeable subject. I thought of the charming Caroline. I had no doubt
that she had read my note, and on the morrow I would go to her shop and
find out how far I might hope. A not very moral scheme, I agree! I
proposed to try to seduce a girl, in order to gratify a caprice that
would last only a moment. But what would you have? I have some grievous
faults; I believe that unmarried men were put into the world to make
love to girls. Those girls who desire to remain virtuous should do as
Nicette did--refuse to allow themselves to be seduced.
Musing thus, I reached my abode. It had seemed a short walk to me. To be
sure, the weather was magnificent; the moon was quite as fine as on the
preceding night; but my thoughts were not upon the firmament. I was on
the point of knocking, when a person who was sitting on the bench near
the porte cochère rose quickly and came toward me.
"Ah! here you are, Monsieur Dorsan; I was waiting for you."
I recognized my little flower girl, whom the sight of Mademoiselle
Caroline had banished from my memory. She had not forgotten me; she was
waiting for me in the street! and it was nearly twelve o'clock!
"How long have you been here, Nicette?"
"Since nine o'clock, monsieur."
"Why did you wait so long for me?"
"Oh! monsieur, please forgive me, but I couldn't stand it; I wanted to
thank you again, and tell you what I have done with my money."
"My dear girl, that wasn't necessary; I am sure that you are behaving as
you ought."
"Don't you like it because I waited for you, monsieur? If you don't,
I'll go away----"
I knew by the sound of her voice that she was ready to weep. Had I
spoken harshly to her? She was going away with a heavy heart, but I took
her hand and detained her. She heaved a deep sigh. Poor Nicette! could
it be for me? If so, I pitied her. In truth, I did not deserve to be
loved by a sensitive, faithful heart; and yet, I wanted women to adore
me and to be faithful to me: reconcile the two, if you can.
"Come, my dear Nicette, tell me all you have done since last night?"
"Won't it bore you, monsieur?"
"No, of course not; don't you know that I am interested in everything
that concerns you?"
"Oh, monsieur! if you--but here goes: in the first place, I went home to
my mother's, because, after all, she is my mother, and, although she
turned me out of doors, I still owe her respect."
"That is true; you did very well. How did Madame Jérôme receive you?"
"Very badly, monsieur! oh! very badly! She didn't so much as ask me
where I'd passed the night. But she proposed to me again to marry
Beauvisage, and said that then she'd forgive what she called my
_caravanes_.[A] Has there been any _caravanes_ between you and me,
monsieur?"
[A] In French slang, "love adventures."
"Certainly not; and then?"
"Oh! I refused; because, when it comes to marriage, I'm obstinate, too.
Then she beat me again, and that time you wasn't there to stop her."
I could not restrain a smile at the artless way in which Nicette
reminded me of the blow I had received in her behalf; but I was
distressed by Madame Jérôme's hard-heartedness: to think of turning her
daughter out of doors, beating her, and abandoning her, utterly without
resource, at the age when the simplest and often the only means of
support are to be found in prostitution! Ah! there are mothers unworthy
of the name!
"Well, Nicette?"
"Well, monsieur, I packed up my clothes and left the house, without
seeing my sister, who didn't dare to show her face before me. I says to
myself: 'I mustn't whine about it; I haven't done anything to be sorry
for. I refused the pork man, that's true; but when it's a matter of a
girl's whole life, surely she has a right to do as she pleases.'--So I
went off with my little bundle. I don't know how it happened, but after
walking a while I found myself in your street. I looked round for a
booth, and found one over yonder, close by, on Rue Saint-Honoré, near
the boulevard. I bought a bed and a chair; that's all I need. To-morrow,
I'll get a table for my bouquets; as to the flowers, I know where to get
them. I'll set up a stand on the corner of the street, on the boulevard;
and when you want a bouquet, monsieur, I shall be there, close by your
house; and it will be easy enough for you to let me know. Have I done
well, monsieur?"
Nicette had finished speaking, but I still listened. I was touched by
her attachment. She had wanted to be near me, I could see that; and
there was something so simple and ingenuous in the way she told me about
it, that it seemed that in acting thus she had simply done her duty.
"You don't say anything, monsieur; is it because you're angry at my
leaving my old quarter to come--to this one? If that's it, why, I'll
look for another room to-morrow; I'll go far away, ever so far, and
you'll never find me in your path again!"
"What do you say? I, angry because you are near me? It's very wrong of
you to say that, Nicette! I thought that I had shown you how deep an
interest I take in you."
"Oh! I beg your pardon, Monsieur Dorsan, I beg your pardon; perhaps I
ought to have asked your permission--for you are my patron."
"Hush! what a child you are! I am very glad that you live in this
quarter. I shall see you often, and always with pleasure."
"Oh! monsieur, and so shall I. But I won't take the liberty again to
wait for you at your door. I only did it to-day because I wanted to tell
you what I'd done, and to let you know where I am now."
"Don't apologize, my dear girl; I am so glad to see you! Ah! Nicette,
what a cruel, yet delicious, night I passed so near you! I shall never
forget it as long as I live. I know that I shouldn't have so much
courage another time."
"Let's not say anything more about that, Monsieur Dorsan. I must go
home, for it's very late, and I'm keeping you from your sleep again. To
be sure, this is the last time it will happen."
"Dear Nicette, your alluring charms, your graces, and your delightful
frankness, will always be with me in that room, where I should be glad
to see you again."
"Oh! don't say that, I beg of you, Monsieur Dorsan. I'm too far away
from you--a poor flower girl!"
"Ah! Nicette; if you chose----"
"Adieu, Monsieur Dorsan! adieu!"
She said _adieu_, but she did not go. I held one of her hands; she
repelled me and drew me toward her at the same time. My eyes were fixed
upon hers; we said nothing; but if my porte cochère had been open, I
believe that Nicette would have gone with me again. A sudden outcry
aroused us from that pleasant situation. A man ran along the street,
shouting _thief_! Nicette withdrew her hand, bade me a very affectionate
good-night, and fled. I tried to detain her, but she was already far
away.
I knocked at my door and was just about to enter, when the man whom I
had seen running toward us, all alone, and whom I had taken for a
drunken man, rushed through the porte cochère and fell headlong in the
courtyard, crying:
"Safe at last!"
I recognized Raymond's voice; I was curious to learn the end of his
adventures. The concierge, hearing the uproar, arrived on the scene with
a light, and we saw Raymond, his trousers torn from waistband to knee,
lying at full length in the courtyard, gasping with fatigue, and trying
to recover his breath.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Madame Dupont; "what has happened to you, Monsieur
Raymond? a pretty mess you're in!"
"What! is it you?" said I, in my turn; "why did you leave Tivoli without
waiting for my signal?"
"Oh, yes! I fancy I should have had to wait a long while for your
signal!"
"You're too impatient."
"I had been crouching in that corner for an hour, when I saw some men
making the rounds of the garden. Faith! that gave me a fright, and I
determined to scale the wall. But I was in such a hurry that I got
caught on some broken glass; I tore my trousers and cut the base of my
spine. On Rue du Mont-Blanc, I was insulted by some drunken men; indeed,
I think they meant to rob me; but I ran off, shouting for help, and here
I am in port, God be praised! But I shall remember Tivoli!"
"You must bathe your back in warm water, monsieur," said Madame Dupont.
"Yes, I'll do that in the morning."
"You saved your silhouettes, I hope?" said I.
"I believe I lost some of them when I dropped from the wall."
"The devil! that's a pity! they'll testify against you, and it will be
easy to recognize that profile of yours. I advise you to wear a false
nose and spectacles for a fortnight or so."
My neighbor, who knew very well that I was making sport of him, took his
candle and tramped upstairs without a word to me. When we were on our
landing, I nodded to him, with a smile, and entered my lodgings alone,
where I slept soundly. Nights follow but do not resemble one another:
that is what all women say a fortnight after marriage.