Six times I had walked around the pond. From time to time I halted in
front of the lions, which I contemplated from every point of view; then,
for variety's sake, I listened to the plash of the water as it fell into
the passage through which it flows back to the canals. All this was most
entertaining, no doubt, and still I began to weary of it. The sentinel
watched me closely; doubtless he began to look upon me as a suspicious
character.
It grew dark, and I was on the point of going away, when I saw coming
toward me a woman in a little cap. Was it she at last? I dared not
flatter myself that it was; I had been mistaken so many times, for my
eyesight is not very good; but she continued to approach me. Yes, it was
really she. Caroline accosted me with a smiling face; she was not in her
best clothes; but there was a certain daintiness in her costume: her cap
was neatly tied, and her hair had been in curl papers all day, I would
have sworn; a woman does not take so much pains for a man to whom she
does not intend to listen. The girl seemed to me a sly minx enough! But
although the champagne had made me even more reckless than usual, I was
not inclined to offer my arm to a grisette, in a cap, within the walls
of Paris.
"I was beginning to lose all hope of seeing you," I said.
"Why? it's only a quarter past eight, and I can't get away from my shop
any earlier."
"Let us go for a stroll in the fields."
"In the fields? oh, no! it's too late. I can't be out later than nine;
my aunt would scold me."
"That's a very tiresome aunt of yours. Let us go in somewhere."
"No, I don't want to. Oh! if I should be seen with you!"
I did not choose to tell her that I was no more anxious than she to
exhibit myself on the boulevard with her, for, after all, there were
some social conventions which I did not care to defy. She wore an apron
and a cap, and that fact annoyed me greatly. Certainly I think no more
of a milliner than of a flowermaker, but Agathe was dressed as a lady,
and I could afford to offer her my arm; a bonnet and shawl make a vast
difference in a woman; and that is one of the petty foibles to which a
young man has to submit when he goes into society, even though he
despise them. If Nicette had met me at noon instead of at midnight, I
certainly should not have escorted her to Madame Jérôme's on foot.
"Suppose we walk a little on Rue des Marais," said Caroline; "I am not
so much afraid of being seen there."
"Very well."
That suggestion was most welcome to me. We went down the stairs, took
the Passage du Wauxhall, and in a moment we were on Rue des Marais, a
street most favorable for sentimental promenades. Mademoiselle Caroline
seemed to know the best places.
The subject of our conversation may be divined: between two lovers,
between a gallant and a coquette, between a pretty woman and a comely
youth, between a young man and a grisette, the same subject is always
discussed; they talk of love and nothing else. For centuries, love has
formed the staple subject of conversation between man and woman; many
observations must have been made thereupon, and still the theme is not
exhausted. To be sure, everyone treats it in his own way, but the end in
view is always the same, is it not?
The fumes of the champagne led me to discuss the subject rather
cavalierly; Mademoiselle Caroline, who probably had not dined so
sumptuously as I had, stood on her dignity. I could obtain nothing from
her; she kept her aunt constantly to the fore, complaining of the
severity with which she was treated; but as she had no means of
providing for herself, she must needs submit to necessity.
I fancied that I could divine the girl's ambition; she loved liberty,
referred with a sigh to the matter of bonnets and dresses, and seemed to
be as sick of her aunt as of her shop. I afforded her a glimpse of a
possible means of becoming free and happy; I dropped a word or two
concerning a nicely furnished little room of which she would be
mistress, where she could work as she chose, where, in short, everything
would be subject to her wishes. It was all very alluring, and
Mademoiselle Caroline listened very attentively; she did not reply in
words, but she sighed and looked down. I talked of dresses, theatres,
pleasure parties; she looked at me with a smile, and allowed me to steal
a very affectionate kiss. I had found her weak side: the girl was
disgusted with her present life; she longed to be her own mistress; in a
word, she wanted to have a chamber of her own. Those little grisettes
are all alike; that is what they all aspire to; as if when they once had
lodgings of their own their fortunes were made. I saw that the
flowermaker cherished that aspiration, and that until it was fulfilled
she would accord me no favors. That denoted, not love exactly, but
foresight and shrewdness. What should I do? Faith! one more foolish
thing. Caroline was fascinating; perhaps gratitude would attach her to
me. Gratitude, because I desired to seduce her! you will say. I agree
that it is hardly the fitting word, but observe that I gave her an
opportunity to reflect at leisure.
"Caroline, does your aunt need you to support her?"
"No, monsieur; on the contrary, I am sure that she wouldn't be at all
sorry to have me provided for."
"I understand. And you have no other relations?"
"No, monsieur."
"And you two would part without regret?"
"Oh, yes, indeed! for we often quarrel; and if I had been able to have a
room of my own, I'd have done it long ago."
"In that case, you shall be in your own quarters to-morrow."
"What, monsieur! do you mean it?"
She jumped for joy, then checked herself, because she thought that she
ought not to let me see how delighted she was, but that it was incumbent
on her to make some show of hesitation.
"But, monsieur, I don't know whether I ought to accept."
"What is there to prevent?"
"What will people say?"
"It seems to me that that ought not to worry you so much as your aunt;
and as you are not afraid of making her angry, what do you care for what
strangers may say?"
"That's so, monsieur; it makes no difference at all to me; besides,
several friends of mine have done it, and been no worse off for it."
"Oh! there's no lack of examples. And so, my dear girl, be all ready at
this time to-morrow night. I will come here for you. Make up a little
bundle of whatever you need most, and I will take you to your room."
"Well, as you insist upon it, until to-morrow! I'll be ready."
"By the way, one more question. Who is that Monsieur Jules you were with
at Tivoli?"
"Oh! he's a very well-behaved young fellow, who takes me out to walk
sometimes with my aunt."
"I believe you; but even if he's a hundred times more well-behaved than
you say, you must promise me not to receive him at your room, and not to
go to walk with him any more."
"Never fear; I know that I mustn't do that, and I don't mean to annoy
you in any way."
"You are a dear girl; so it's decided, is it?"
"Yes; until to-morrow; it's late and I must go."
I took an earnest of our bargain from Caroline's lips; and she hurried
away, doubtless to prepare for the coming change in her situation.
So I had arranged to keep Mademoiselle Caroline! The word had an ill
sound in my ears; in general, it is understood to refer to those old
libertines, ugly, stupid, and infirm, whom fortune alone has favored,
and who obtain by the power of gold favors which others often have
obtained without effort. Those men are rarely loved, and are almost
always deceived; I myself had taken enjoyment at their expense; and I
was going to keep Caroline! No, I was going to establish her in
lodgings, that was all; I might perhaps make her a little present now
and then, but she must continue to work; I had no inclination to gratify
all her whims; therefore, I was her lover, not her keeper.
We always endeavor to look at our own actions in the most favorable
light; moreover, Caroline was really pretty; I had been sighing for her
many days, and at last my hopes were to be fulfilled. I persuaded myself
that she loved me, although I had detected nothing in her conduct to
demonstrate it; but it is so pleasant to flatter one's self that one has
aroused that sentiment! She was a flirt, but I would steady her; she
would see no one but me, go out with no one but me; she would do
whatever I desired, and she would be faithful to me; that is the way I
arranged matters in my mind.
The next morning I considered what I had to do; I had no time to lose. I
dressed in haste, and as I closed my door I ran into Raymond, who was
coming to pay me a visit, in his morning gown.
"Going out already?" he said.
"Yes, neighbor; I have a great deal to do to-day."
"The devil! I wanted to talk with you."
"You must wait until another time."
"You didn't join me yesterday at the Café Turc; I waited in the garden
till ten o'clock."
"I am very sorry. Adieu!"
"But I say, what about my picture? Has Agathe my picture?"
I had ceased to listen, and was at the foot of the stairs. I scoured the
neighborhood in search of a suitable room. I wanted one of which I could
have immediate possession, and one that was not far from my own
lodgings. I had not succeeded in finding what I desired,--they were all
either too high up, or too dark, or too dirty,--and I was walking along
with my nose in the air, looking for signs, when, as I paused in front
of a porte cochère, I heard a faint cough near me. It seemed to me to be
a simulated cough; I turned, and saw Nicette. I was within two yards of
her stand and had no idea of it. Nicette looked at me, then lowered her
eyes; she dared not bow to me or speak to me by daylight. Poor child! At
that moment I remembered her bouquet, which I had entirely forgotten; I
had never thanked her for her thoughtfulness. I walked up to her, and,
as I selected a few flowers, told her in an undertone how deeply touched
I was by her remembrance. She blushed with pleasure, and I walked away
followed by her eyes.
At last I found what I wanted, on Rue Caumartin; two small rooms which
were very neat and clean, very light, and could be occupied at once. It
only remained to furnish them; and with plenty of money nothing is so
easy. I hastened to an upholsterer's, bought all that I required, and
had it sent to the house with me. In less than three hours the little
suite was completely furnished. At first I intended to supply only what
was strictly necessary, but my self-esteem interfered; I determined to
give Caroline a pleasant surprise; she must have an easy-chair for
resting, and a sofa for us two. A pretty woman must have plenty of
mirrors; but, above all else, she must have a dressing table and a
comfortable bed. She must have curtains to shield her from the gaze of
her neighbors; and they must be lined, to lessen the glare of the sun;
lastly, she must have a little clock, so that we should not forget the
time while talking of love, and I did not expect to talk of anything
else to Caroline. All these little details carried me much further than
I had at first proposed; but I would try to economize in some other
direction, and those were extraordinary expenses and of infrequent
occurrence.
At last everything was ready; I had the keys of the apartment. There was
no concierge in the house; that meant one less spy. But I must provide
for everything; Caroline would come that evening to take up her abode in
that quarter, which was unfamiliar to her; I must, at the very least, be
prepared to offer her some supper; surely there was a restaurant in the
neighborhood, and I would go at once to order a dainty repast. But had I
thought of everything that required to be done before my mistress should
take possession of her new abode? would she have everything she needed?
I decided to place fifteen louis in the commode, with which she could
provide for her immediate wants; for in the first days of her changed
position she would hardly feel like working, and that would be very
excusable, a girl's head is so easily turned! But we become accustomed
to everything, and it seemed to me that if my pretty flowermaker chose
to be respectable and orderly, and to behave herself, she might be very
happy.
I went to the restaurant and ordered a dainty supper for nine o'clock.
Then I set about trying to kill time until evening; it was dinner time,
but I was not hungry; no matter! I determined to dine, as that would
give me some occupation. When I had dined, it was six o'clock; I had
still two hours and a half before me, which would never end, I thought.
I decided to take a walk; it occurred to me that I should not be sorry
to meet Raymond, to divert my thoughts. So I went to Rue Vivienne, where
the milliner's shop was in which Agathe was engaged; I was sure that
Raymond would be prowling about the neighborhood.
As I drew near the shop, I saw a number of people collected about a
paper pasted on the wall within a few yards of the door. I was not in
the habit of stopping to read about lost dogs or other chattels; but I
saw that everybody was laughing, and concluded that it was not one of
those ordinary placards. I walked toward the crowd and listened:
"It's a good joke," said one.
"It's a most excellent trick," said another; "I'm sure it's a good
likeness; I recognize that profile."
I pushed my way to the front, and--what did I see? Raymond's silhouette
pasted on a great white sheet of paper, with these words written above
in huge letters:
"Notice to ladies, young and old. The original of this portrait is
looking for a lady of from fifteen to thirty-six years who is
willing to accept a dinner in a private dining room."
I readily guessed the author of that piece of deviltry. Agathe and her
shopmates were standing in the doorway, laughing till they cried to see
the crowd in front of the silhouette and to hear the various remarks. I
was moved to pity for poor Raymond; if I had dared, I would have removed
his unlucky face, thus exposed to the laughter of the passers-by. To be
sure, it was hardly possible to recognize it in that black profile; but
my neighbor had a very peculiar cast of countenance; and the artist,
unluckily for Raymond, had caught his likeness perfectly; indeed, he had
had abundant time to practise, as Raymond had passed the whole evening
in his booth.
Among the spectators I noticed little Friquet, whom one could always be
sure of finding in front of posters, caricature shops, cake sellers,
street singers, and all sorts of open-air shows. The little fellow had
recognized Raymond; he was holding his sides with laughter, and crying:
"I say! I know him! It's Monsieur Raymond; he comes to my aunt's house
to sing! Oh! it's he, sure enough! What a shame to paste him up there!"
And although he characterized it as a shame, the rascal kept repeating:
"I know him: it's Monsieur Raymond, who comes to my aunt's."
I was about to walk away, when I turned and saw Raymond parading in
front of Agathe's shop, playing the dandy and ogling her with
significant glances, to which she replied only with roars of laughter.
The poor devil was walking toward his portrait; if Friquet saw him, he
was lost; the little clerk would not fail to make him known to the
crowd. I determined to try to save him from that humiliation. I hastened
toward him, took his arm, and tried to lead him away with me.
"Come, my dear Raymond, come; let's take coffee together."
"I can't do it, my friend; I am here for a purpose, you see. I am
watching Agathe; I want to speak to her."
"You can speak to her later; come on with me."
"No; this seems to me a favorable moment; she doesn't take her eyes off
me."
The little traitress was, in truth, making the most ridiculous faces at
him, for fear he would go away. Monsieur Raymond, who had never known
her to look at him like that, and who saw that all the shopgirls had
their eyes on him, was beside himself with delight; he swaggered along,
leaning on his cane; to no purpose did I pull him by the arm, it was
impossible to induce him to lose sight of the milliner's shop. But he
noticed the crowd assembled a few steps away.
"There's something over yonder; let's see what it is."
"Pshaw! it isn't worth while; an offer of a reward for a lost dog, or an
advertisement of some new oil to prevent the hair from falling out or
turning white."
"I tell you, my dear fellow, those oils aren't to be despised! For my
part, I try every one that comes out; I must confess that they often
give me a headache, but a man must risk something to retain his youth,
you must agree. However, I don't think that's what they're looking at;
see how they're all laughing! It must be something very amusing."
"Don't you know that in Paris the merest trifle is enough to collect a
hundred people?"
"No matter; I want to see what it is; I like to laugh when I have an
opportunity. I'll come back in a minute and tell you about it."
It was impossible to keep him away; he had already crossed the gutter
with an agility of which I had not deemed him capable; and there he was
in the crowd, forcing his way to the front with hands and elbows. The
milliners did not lose sight of him. I too was anxious to witness the
effect that his silhouette produced upon him. Just as he reached the
wall and stood motionless in front of his likeness, unable to believe
his eyes, the little clerk, who was still among the crowd, espied him,
uttered an exclamation, and, overjoyed to be able to point him out to
the bystanders, called out to him:
"That's a picture of you, Monsieur Raymond; it looks just like you."
And all the young men repeated with him:
"It's Monsieur Raymond; he comes to my aunt's!"
My neighbor pulled his hat over his eyes, so that one could see nothing
but the tip of his nose; he tried to fly from the spot, and hurled
himself among the loungers, who took the keenest delight in barring his
path, bombarding him with jests and hootings. Raymond was beside
himself; he pushed so hard that he succeeded in breaking out a path; and
as he strode away, the laughter from the milliner's shop completely
broke his heart. He went like the wind; but his hat was so far over his
eyes that he could not see where he was going, and he collided with a
blind man led by a dog which carried a bowl in its mouth. The shock
overturned the poor devil, who sat down on the sidewalk with an emphatic
oath; the dog, seeing its master fall, dropped its bowl and sprang at
Raymond; the blind man cried _thief_! because he heard his sous rolling
on the ground; and Raymond swore because the dog was snapping at his
legs. The crowd ran up to restore peace and put the beggar on his feet;
but no one dared to approach him, because he was laying about him with
his stick, thinking that he was belaboring the person who had thrown him
down; while Raymond struggled with the dog, which had taken his leg as a
substitute for the bowl and would not relax its grip.
At last, the blind man was raised to his feet, and they succeeded in
replacing the bowl between the jaws of the faithful beast that had
fought so valiantly for its master. As it was necessary to compensate
the poor devil, who was rubbing his posteriors and demanding his money,
my neighbor was compelled to put his hand in his pocket, while
everybody shouted at him:
"Come, Monsieur Raymond, you must be generous; you shouldn't rush
through the streets of Paris like a madman!"
To escape the crowd, which was becoming larger every moment, Raymond
emptied his pockets; but the more he gave, the more the blind man
complained of his bruises.
"These villains are never satisfied!" said my neighbor; "here's twelve
francs for your posterior, and thirty sous for the money you lost; I
think that's quite enough."
"You have hurt me," said the blind man, shouting like a deaf person; "I
shan't be able to walk for a week; you must make up to me what I shall
lose by that."
"Well, here's twelve francs more."
"That's not enough, bourgeois."
"What! that makes three francs a day, and still you're not satisfied!
Your trade seems to be a good one!"
"I'm a poor father of a family; I've got five children."
"Why doesn't your wife lead you, instead of trusting you to a dog?"
"My wife sings on Place Maubert, kind gentleman."
"And your children?"
"My oldest, a boy, sings on Boulevard des Italiens; the second, a girl,
sings on Rue du Grand-Hurleur; the third, another girl, at Montparnasse;
the fourth, a boy, on the Champs-Élysées; and the youngest boy is just
beginning to sing on Rue du Petit-Lion. We all sing, kind gentleman."
"Well! you're a good one to complain! People who sing from morning till
night, and won't take three francs for a day's receipts! I should like
to know if there's a family in Paris better off than that!"
The crowd laughed at my neighbor's reflections. The blind man, who was
inclined to be ugly, was threatened with having to go to exhibit his
bruises to the magistrate, who had a regular tariff for bruised
posteriors of all grades. As he had no desire to expose his hurts to the
authorities, fearing a considerable abatement of his claims, he went his
way with his dog, Raymond with an insult to nurse, and I with the
silhouette, which I had torn down and pocketed.
The hour for me to meet Caroline had arrived. I took a cab and was
driven to a point behind the Château d'Eau. There I alighted, and
strolled along the boulevard, awaiting my young runaway. This time she
soon appeared, with several boxes in her hand. She smiled as soon as she
saw me; there was less restraint in her manner, more affection in her
glance, than I had seen before. Ah! I was sure now that I held sway in
her heart.
I led her to the cab; we put the boxes in, then took our places side by
side. I told the cabman to urge his horses, for I was impatient to
arrive and enjoy her surprise. At last, after a rapid journey, during
which she had allowed me to hold her in my arms and to tell her again
and again that I would always love her, we reached Rue Caumartin and
drew up in front of her new abode.
I opened the house door; I paid the cabman; Caroline gathered up her
boxes, and I took her hand to lead her upstairs; for it was dark and we
could hardly see. I was amazed that her hand did not tremble in mine. At
the moment of such a tremendous change in her position she was not at
all excited. She was a young woman of great strength of character--that
was clear.
At last we were in her apartment; an old woman on the same landing gave
us a light, and Caroline was able to examine her new quarters. She
looked about with rapture; I could see her joy gleaming in her eyes.
"Oh! how pretty it is! how pretty it is!" she kept saying, again and
again; and she sat down on the easy-chair, on the sofa, looked at
herself in the mirror, examined her curtains, her commode, her clock,
her table, her chairs. The bed was the only thing that she dared not
examine. Was it from modesty?
"You are satisfied, then?" I said inquiringly, as I took her on my
knees.
"Why, how could I help being? These rooms are charming; everything is so
elegant, and nothing is lacking; I shall be just like any _comme il
faut_ woman."
"And you think you will be happy here?"
"I feel already as if I could never go anywhere else."
"I am delighted to have succeeded so well; everything here is yours."
"Mine? really? You are too generous!"
"And if you don't love me, you are at liberty to refuse to see me; I do
not intend to put any price upon what I do."
"Oh! what an idea! if I didn't love you, would I have consented to come
with you? would I accept anything from you?"
I allowed her to say no more; a kiss closed her mouth. The doorbell rang
violently, and Caroline started up in alarm.
"Who can that be?" she asked.