I was still sleeping when Madame Dupont came to arrange my room. I began
at once to question her, for I was anxious to know if she had seen
Nicette.
"Did anyone call to see me last evening, Madame Dupont?"
"No, monsieur; no one."
"You saw no one come upstairs to my rooms?"
"You know very well, monsieur, that I wouldn't have let anybody come up,
knowing that you were out."
It was very strange! how had she succeeded in eluding the concierge's
eyes? She was determined that no one should see her bringing the
nosegay; she thought that it might offend me, and her gift acquired the
greater value in my eyes on that account. To divert my mind from such
thoughts, I recalled the errands my brother-in-law desired me to do. I
went out, leaving Madame Dupont to place in a box all the artificial
flowers that were strewn about my floor; but I told her not to touch the
bouquet, which was on the mantel. It was a fertile source of conjectures
for my concierge.
My day was fully occupied by the commissions to be executed in various
government offices, whence Déneterre, who was about to build and desired
to consummate various enterprises, hoped to obtain information and
support. I was not sorry to have something to do; the time passed more
rapidly. Do not believe, however, that I was accustomed to spend my
days in absolute idleness; no, I was devoted to the fine arts,
especially poetry and music; and I turned my attention to them with
ardor, when my love-making folly left me the requisite leisure; but I
admit that I had neglected them shamefully for some time past.
It was time to think about dinner. I did not forget that I had an
appointment for the evening on Boulevard Bondy, near the Château d'Eau.
In order to be in the neighborhood, I thought that, instead of dining at
the Palais-Royal as usual, it would be an excellent idea to dine on the
boulevards, where the small theatres are; then I should be close at hand
for the evening. I bent my steps, therefore, toward the Marais.
When I was on Boulevard du Temple, I had only too great a number of
restaurants to choose from. I knew them all; I was not _en partie fine_;
so that I had no occasion to think of anything except which was the
best, without looking about for the most convenient and most secluded
private dining rooms. I decided in favor of the Cadran-Bleu; the prices
were high there, but ordinarily one could get a good dinner. I walked in
that direction and was just passing the Jardin Turc, when I saw a
gentleman in front of me with a lady on his arm. Raymond's figure was
too easily recognizable for me to mistake it. It was certainly he: his
gait, his huge calves, his gestures--yes, it was he. As for the lady,
her face was hidden under an enormous bonnet; but it seemed to me that I
knew her as well. My neighbor was talking with great earnestness, and I
noticed that he pressed her arm to his side; he had every appearance of
being _en bonne fortune_. I was curious to know where they were going;
and I was determined to obtain a glimpse, if possible, of the charmer's
face, unseen by Raymond; for, as I have said, her figure was not
unfamiliar to me. But they crossed the boulevard and entered a
restaurant on the corner of Rue d'Angoulême--the Méridien; I remembered
that the waiters there were young women, and that it was a very
comfortable place; at least, it was so some years before. Why should I
not follow my neighbor? Perhaps chance would give me a glimpse of his
companion; and Raymond does so much boasting about his mistresses, who,
according to him, are always princesses and of rare beauty, that I was
not sorry to have an opportunity to see one of those marvels of
creation.
I left the Cadran-Bleu at my right, and, resigned to the prospect of
dining less satisfactorily, entered the Méridien and asked for a private
room. I was taken to it by a waitress. We passed a room where I heard
Raymond's voice, and I told my conductress to give me the adjoining one.
The partition between me and the room which Raymond and his flame
occupied was so thin that I could hear their voices when they did not
speak in undertones. I left my door open, too; and as theirs was not
closed, for their table was being laid, I could catch from time to time
a portion of what my neighbor said; for he had the unfortunate habit of
speaking very loud--a habit contracted in order to attract attention to
himself, and retained even in his incognito. Judging from what I heard,
he was putting himself out to please his guest, whose tastes he
constantly consulted in ordering the dinner. I heard him read the bill
of fare to her three times; she had much difficulty in making up her
mind; she didn't like anything; she wasn't hungry; it made no difference
to her; but she asked for a thousand things that were not on the bill.
I readily concluded, from her affectations and fussing, that my neighbor
had not made a very distinguished conquest; indeed, one would have said
that she was making fun of him and that it amused her to annoy him. I
was convinced that he would have nothing to show for his dinner.
Every time that I heard the woman's voice it recalled confused memories.
Yes, I was sure that I knew her, but I could not tell who she was; I had
known so many that I might be pardoned for confusing them in my memory;
and then, I caught only a few detached words. No matter! I was
determined to see her, and I would find a way!
It seemed that Raymond decided at last to order the dinner himself, for
I heard nothing more from him. The lady hummed a comic-opera air; that
voice was certainly familiar to me.
I heard the bell, and the waitress appeared. Raymond gave her the card
and ordered dinner at once, and the girl went downstairs. The lady
expressed a wish for some fromage fouetté, which my neighbor had not
ordered, and he ran after the girl to add it to his order. As he passed
my room, the door of which I had been careful to leave ajar, he glanced
in and saw me.
"What do I see? my dear friend Dorsan!"
"Himself, Monsieur Raymond. What on earth are you doing here?"
He entered the room with an air of mystery, walking on tiptoe, and
pointed, with a smile, to the adjoining room.
"I am in there," he said, trying to speak in an undertone; "next door."
"Oho!"
"With--someone."
"Ah! I understand! an amourette, a _partie fine_!"
"Exactly."
"You're a terrible fellow. They accuse me of being fickle, a deceiver,
but I am sure that you're a hundred times worse than I."
"I won't deny that I'm rather given to changing!"
"And the lady?"
"Oh! charming, delicious! a regular swell, with her carriage and livery!
We are here incog."
"So I imagine."
"She has granted me to-day a favor she has refused a thousand other
men."
"What a lucky dog you are! You arouse my curiosity; might I not see
her?"
"Oh! impossible, my dear fellow, impossible! she's a woman who is most
particular about her reputation. If she knew that I had talked about her
to one of my friends, she would be deadly angry with me and would never
forgive me."
"Very good, I'll say no more about it; I see that it would be no
kindness to you. I congratulate you, none the less, on such a brilliant
conquest."
"It's worth what it costs, that's true. You know that in the matter of
women I am rather particular; I don't take up with the first comer; I
insist on good form and style."