It was the man from the restaurant, with the supper I had ordered; that
sight restored Caroline's gayety completely. We set the table; the
basket was unloaded, the dishes placed on the table, the waiter
dismissed. We were alone, on our own premises, our own masters. I was
not very hungry, but I was pleased to see that my companion did honor to
the repast. She partook of everything and declared that everything was
good.
"At all events," I said to myself, "she hasn't begun to play the
_petite-maîtresse_ yet; she doesn't try to conceal her pleasure or her
appetite."
She admitted that she never had such a good supper at her aunt's, and
that she loved good things to eat, sweetmeats, and muscat wine.
Thereupon I filled her glass with muscatel. I did not wish to make her
tipsy; but a little "point," I thought, would banish the last traces of
ceremony that still held her gayety in check.
Caroline was bright; her conversation abounded in sallies and
repartee--overabounded perhaps. I foresaw that she was likely to go far
and to become a leader in her class. I could understand that she must
have been bored to death on Rue des Rosiers; she secretly longed to
shine upon a greater stage, because she had a presentiment of the
triumph that awaited her. I determined to do my best not to encourage
her taste for luxury, fine dresses, and extravagance; for it would be
the devil's own job to make her take a different road when she was
fairly started.
But the clock struck eleven.
"Already!" said Caroline; "how the time flies!"
I was by her side, I held her in my arms, I rested my head on her
shoulder; silence had followed our bursts of merriment, but silence
expresses the emotion of the heart better than the noisy outbursts of
folly.
"It is very late," said Caroline, in an undertone.
"Must I go?" I said; "aren't you your own mistress now?"
She lowered her eyes and made no reply; but did I need any other avowal
than that? She defended herself very feebly; and I was such an expert
lady's-maid that in an instant she was in her night costume, if it may
be called a costume. To be sure, I tore and broke whatever came in my
way: strings, laces, and pins. Those were very trifling obstacles;
luckily, fashion does not decree that our ladies must be clad in
corselets of steel! but even so, love would find the defect in them.
There was one pleasanter obstacle which I desired to find; but I am
bound to confess that it did not exist. Ah! Mademoiselle Caroline, I
might have suspected as much! But what does it matter, after all? Was
she any less pretty on that account? No, to be sure; perhaps, indeed, it
was that that gave to her face that expression of coquettish malice
which fascinated me. But I could not help thinking that another man had
obtained much more than I without providing her with an apartment;
however, for my encouragement, I recalled the ballad:
"The first step's taken unreflecting."
Not until the second does reflection take a hand; therefore, there is
much more glory in inducing the second step than the first; I tried to
persuade myself that that was so.
At all events, I had no choice but to make the best of it, as there was
no remedy. If I had been her husband--why, then I should have done just
the same; for it is quite enough to be persuaded yourself that you are a
Georges Dandin; I see no need of proclaiming it from the housetops.
So I kept all these reflections to myself; I bestowed upon Caroline
caresses which she returned with a vivacity and a force of sentiment of
which I should not have deemed her capable, and which I certainly
should not have found in an innocent; that was one source of
consolation. She swore that she would continue to love me, that she
would be happy with no one but me, that she did not want to see anybody
else, that she would always be faithful to me and had no desire to win
the love of any other man. I said about the same to her, and we fell
asleep with these touching oaths of love on our lips.
When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Caroline was still asleep. It was
only six o'clock, so I did not wake her; she must have been fatigued. I
softly imprinted a kiss on lips which seemed to invite it even when
asleep, and I left that bed where I had found in my inamorata's arms all
the delights of sensual pleasure, save only--but why think of that?
I dressed without making any noise, for I wanted to go away without
waking her. I knew that very close companionship soon gives birth to
satiety; therefore, I proposed not to see her too often, so that when we
did meet we should enjoy ourselves more. Oh! I had had experience! When
it is not used with care, there is nothing that becomes exhausted so
quickly as love. And then, although Mademoiselle Caroline pleased me
immensely, I had no idea of living with her altogether. When I was fully
dressed, I glanced once more at my new friend, then crept from the room
and closed the door very softly.
What a difference between Paris at six in the morning and the same Paris
at six in the evening. What perfect tranquillity reigned in that
quarter, which, a few hours later, would resound with the rumbling of
calèches and tilburys, with the trampling of brilliantly attired
equestrians, with the shouts of coachmen and footmen, with the uproar of
tradesmen and foot passengers! A few milkwomen alone gave life to the
picture. I walked toward the boulevards. How cool it was! what a
delicious hour for walking! I could not resist the desire to walk the
length of the boulevards before the dust and tumult of the day had
transformed them into the rendezvous of dandies and _petite-maîtresses_.
I felt, too, that the air I was breathing did me good, that it
tranquillized my mind; and I understood how one may at six in the
morning repent of what one did at six in the evening.
But the shops began to open, the tradesmen took down their shutters, the
concierges were sweeping down their steps, blinds were being raised,
lazy folk were beginning to yawn and stretch their arms, working girls
came out to buy their ounce of coffee, old bachelors their roll,
maid-servants their beef stew, and old women their little pitcher of
cream. The messenger went to the wine shop for his glass of wine, and
the cabman for his glass of brandy, in order to begin the day aright!
The peasant women, who had already done half their day's work, remounted
their donkeys and returned to the fields; and I left the boulevards and
went home.
Three-fourths of the tenants were still asleep. It was only half-past
seven, and I met nobody but a few maid-servants. My neighbor was not
awake as yet, I sincerely hoped. Poor Raymond! after his adventure of
the preceding evening, I presumed that we must have a grand explanation.
He must inevitably be in a rage with me; for I credited him with
sufficient common sense to understand that the young women in the
milliner's shop had deliberately made sport of him.
On reaching my door, I found something attached to the knob. It was a
bouquet from Nicette, already a little withered; it had been there since
the evening before, no doubt. The little flower girl did not forget me;
and I, who might have gone to say good-morning to her at six o'clock,
had not even thought of her. I very seldom passed her shop. And yet,
Nicette was well worth going out of one's way to see; but for the last
few days I had been so engrossed that I had had no time to think of my
protégée; indeed, I had vowed not to think too much of her, and I
believed that I should do well to keep my vow--for her sake especially.
I wanted her to forget me, for I believed her to be very susceptible and
quite capable of becoming deeply attached to the man she should chance
to love.--"No," I thought, "I will not go to see her; that is the wiser
course. She will end by forgetting me."--But I had a feeling that I
should be very sorry if she did.
I detached the bouquet and entered my rooms; they too reminded me of
Nicette and of the night we had passed together there. That night in no
wise resembled the night which had just gone, and which had been marked
by nothing that was abnormal in my experience. I had spent and expected
to spend many nights as pleasurable as the last. But those nights are
very rare when a girl of sixteen, emotional and attractive, succeeds,
while she beguiles us by her charms, in forcing us to respect her
innocence.
I was not so happy as I should have been. Having become the possessor of
an adorable woman,--for Caroline was truly adorable, and she lost
nothing by being seen in a simple négligé,--what more could I desire?
Ah! I had been deceived so often, that I was justified in being fearful.
My new mistress was at least as coquettish as my previous ones had been,
and that fact was not very reassuring. But why torment myself in
anticipation? Moreover, I had promised myself to be impassive and to
take things philosophically. Yes, I had made myself that promise, but I
had not succeeded in keeping it; perhaps with time and a little more
experience I might succeed. They say that one becomes wonted to
everything, but in my opinion it is very hard to become wonted to
anything that wounds our self-esteem.
Someone knocked; it was Madame Dupont with a letter.
"Give it to me, Madame Dupont."
My concierge had a most amusing way of doing even the simplest things
with an air of great importance and mystery. She handed me the paper,
accompanying it with a reverence which meant a great number of things.
Noticing that the letter was folded simply, not sealed, I concluded that
she knew its contents; and judging from her manner, they must be of
serious import.
"Who gave you this, Madame Dupont?"
"Monsieur Raymond."
"My neighbor?"
"Yes, monsieur; and he told me to bring him your answer."
"Let us see what he has to say."
"MONSIEUR DORSAN:
"We must have a serious explanation with regard to the dinner of
the day before yesterday. The matter cannot be settled elsewhere
than in the Bois de Boulogne, where I shall expect you to-day
between noon and one o'clock. I shall be alone; do you come alone.
I believe you to be too honorable a man to fail to be on hand. I
shall be near Porte Maillot.
"RAYMOND."
I laughed like a madman when I read this epistle. Madame Dupont, whom
Raymond doubtless had told that we were going to fight, seemed amazed at
my hilarity, and asked me what answer she should give him.
"Go," I said, "and assure my neighbor that I will be on hand promptly."
My concierge, proud of her ambassadorship in a matter of such moment,
made me the inevitable reverence and returned with my answer to Raymond,
who was probably waiting in her lodge, swaggering gallantly before the
gossips and housemaids, so that the whole household might know that he
had an affair of honor on hand. I confess that I did not expect such a
challenge from my neighbor. What weapons should I take? He did not
mention the subject, and I had an idea that none would be needed;
however, I concluded to put my pistols in my pocket. Who could say?
perhaps I had judged Raymond ill. Moreover, madmen have their lucid
moments, misers are sometimes extravagant, tyrants have paroxysms of
kindliness, coquettes moments of sincerity, rascals gleams of honesty;
and cowards, too, may have their days of valor.