As a fortunate change in our destiny reconciles us to life, as a lucky
throw of the dice brings us nearer to wealth, as a noble deed reconciles
the misanthrope to mankind, as the acceptance of a play calms the wrath
of an author, as a bottle of old wine makes the drunkard forget his
pledges, as a sunbeam causes the traces of the storm to disappear, so
the sight of a pretty woman makes us forget our virtuous resolutions,
her love banishes from our hearts the memory of our last mistress's
perfidy, and her virtues reconcile us to women in general, whom we take
a vow to shun whenever we are deceived, and whom we do not shun, because
it is not in nature to do it.
Thus the sight of Nicette always led me to esteem her more highly. I
reproached myself for sometimes speaking ill of a sex which contains
models of sensibility, refinement, and sweetness, and which often
redeems a weakness by a hundred estimable qualities. The result in this
instance was that I thought I had done wrong to suspect Caroline, that
nothing in her conduct ought to arouse my jealousy, and that, by
reproaches and unfounded distrust, we often embitter a heart that we
might have made ours forever.
I even went so far as to say to myself that it was my own fault that I
had been deceived so often, and that I had invariably done the opposite
of what one should do to retain a woman's love. We go very far with the
syllogisms that we propound to ourselves. At the rate at which I was
going on, I might have ended by satisfying myself that the infidelities
of our female friends are simply the consequences of our behavior toward
them, when I happened to pass Tortoni's just as Raymond went in with a
man of some sixty years, with an awkward figure, and an inane,
disagreeable face, who was obliged to use a cane to support his left
leg, but whose costume denoted wealth and his manner a remnant of
dandyism.
I was not at all anxious to sit down with them, despite Raymond's
entreaties; he exclaimed at once that we must breakfast together. I
pretended not to hear him, and took my place in a corner, at some
distance from Raymond, of whom I had fought shy since our trip to
Montmorency. But, as I drank my chocolate, I noticed that the
conversation of the two gentlemen was very animated. I was convinced
that the gouty old fellow was telling his friend about some amorous
affairs, which he took pains to vaunt in the highest terms so that he
might still pose as a gay young rake. Would he not do better, I thought,
to attend to his infirmities? He rose at last, and I supposed that
Raymond would go with him; but, no: he remained behind and joined me at
my table.
"Good-morning, my friend! Well! have we recovered from the fatigue of
travel?"
"You are the one to answer that question. Thank heaven! I didn't sleep
on a pile of hams, with my leg caught like a plump lark!"
"Ah! the sly hussy! I admit that I looked a good deal like a sparrow;
but I don't feel it now, I rubbed myself so hard yesterday! I used up
two bottles of cosmetic for the skin, and three phials of Ceylon oil;
so that I have recovered all my elasticity this morning. Tell me, do
you know that man who was with me just now?"
"No."
"That was Monsieur de Grandmaison."
"I never heard of him."
"He's a very rich man, enormously rich!"
"He's enormously ugly!"
"He's an ex-financier, contractor, promoter."
"Yes, I understand."
"He gives delightful balls."
"Not for himself, surely."
"Oh! he's still quite a rake."
"He doesn't look it."
"Because he drags his leg a little; but that doesn't prevent his making
conquests."
"From buying them, you mean."
"That's what I mean; but it all comes to the same thing. Between
ourselves, I admit that he didn't invent gunpowder, and that his
education is confined to the rules of subtraction and multiplication,
which he understands perfectly. But still, for all that, he has the
prettiest women in Paris."
"That doesn't speak well for the prettiest women in Paris."
"He was telling me just now of a new intrigue he is on the point of
consummating. Ha! ha! it's most amusing! She's a ravishing young beauty,
and he is going to steal her from a young man."
"Some kept woman."
"It seems that the little one is worth her price, and that she hangs
back; and then, too, the young man, who is jealous no doubt, keeps her
very close. For all that, they've seen each other--at the window, in the
first place; then, letters and propositions. Grandmaison, who knows how
to manage such affairs, talked about cashmere shawls and diamonds! The
little one's a coquette, and it seems that her young lover keeps her on
a bourgeois footing. The poor fellow will soon be plundered."
I had a feeling of uneasiness, which as yet I dared not analyze;
Raymond's story, to which I had listened mechanically, interested me
deeply at last; the words _window_, _cashmere shawls_, and _diamonds_
aroused vague suspicions in my mind, which I blushed to harbor when I
recalled Monsieur de Grandmaison's age and appearance. My self-esteem
refused to admit that such a rival could be preferred to me; but a
secret voice told me that self-esteem often deceives us. I determined to
ascertain the truth, and I proceeded to ask Raymond certain questions,
which, I was sure, would prove to me that I was wrong to torment myself.
"Where does this Monsieur de Grandmaison live?"
"Rue Caumartin, in a magnificent house that he owns; it's just at the
end of the street, near the boulevard."
I felt a shudder run through my whole body, my gorge rose, a weight
descended on my breast--all in a second, and as the result of a mere
word. I continued my questions, however, affecting the utmost
tranquillity.
"And this young beauty?"
"Lives just opposite him, in a small house where there's no concierge,
on the second floor front. Grandmaison saw her first at her window; it's
a broad street, but he has an excellent glass that he had made to watch
the ballets at the Opéra. It's a little telescope; it brings everything
right under your eyes, and you can imagine how pleasant it is, while a
dancer is making a pirouette, to fasten it on----"
"Well, go on: this young woman?"
"As I was saying, he assured himself with his glass that she was young,
pretty, well built, and not faded. Oh! his glass is invaluable for
that!"
"But the lover?"
"The lover doesn't live with her. He goes very often to see her; but he
doesn't sit at the window, naturally; so that Grandmaison has only
caught a glimpse of him, for she is careful to leave the window as soon
as the young man arrives."
"Well?"
"Well, everything is going as smoothly as possible. Grandmaison took the
little one to a closed box at the Opéra night before last, the lover
being in the country."
At that point, I could no longer control myself, and, entirely
unconscious of what I was doing, I struck the table between my neighbor
and myself such a violent blow that the cup of chocolate bounded up into
his face as he leaned over the table to speak to me. The bulk of the
liquid deluged Raymond's waistcoat and shirt frill. He jumped back,
startled by the gesture that had escaped me. Ashamed of having allowed
my trouble, my wrath, my frenzy, to appear, I tried to recover myself; I
composed my features and apologized. Raymond, uncertain whether he could
safely approach me, asked for a glass of water to clean his face.
"Pardon! a thousand pardons! my dear Raymond, I don't know what caught
me then.--You were saying that, the day before yesterday----"
"You gave me a terrible fright. Are you subject to nervous spasms?"
"No, no! it was mere absent-mindedness.--You were saying----"
"The devil! you ought to look after that. Thanks to you, I have got to
go home to change my waistcoat and shirt."
"Oh! that's nothing.--So, the night before last he took the young woman
to a closed box at the Opéra, eh?"
"Yes, yes.--Is there any more on my face?"
"None at all; you look splendid. Go on."
This compliment restored Raymond's good humor; he tucked his frill out
of sight and resumed the conversation.
"Yes, they were there, in a box----"
"So, it's all over, is it?"
"Oh, no! not yet. The beauty hangs back, you understand, and Grandmaison
isn't the man to push matters so fast--with his bad leg, he needs all
the conveniences. Oh! if it had been one of us two, that would have been
the end; we are sad rascals, you know!"
"But since then?"
"He saw the little one again yesterday morning, outside the walls. He
promised to give her a magnificent cashmere shawl, genuine Turkish,
to-night, if she'd take supper with him at his house; moreover, a
complete apartment, a lady's-maid, a carriage at her service, and a
hundred louis a month, to say nothing of presents, if she would agree to
stay."
"Well?"
"She has accepted."
"She has accepted!"
I sprang to my feet so suddenly that Raymond recoiled and looked at me
uneasily.
"Did it take you again, neighbor?"
"No, nothing's the matter. Let us go out and get a breath of air."
And I took Raymond's arm and led him away. He followed me, making a wry
face. Doubtless I pinched his arm without noticing it, for he begged me
to let it alone; but I did not hear him.
"My dear Dorsan, your muscles keep contracting; let my arm alone,
please."
"Oh! these women! these women! But why do I feel this weight at my
heart? for I do not love her."
"Let me go, my friend, I entreat you!"
"Oh! it's because it is cruel to be constantly deceived in this way! to
be fooled again and again! and for whom, I ask you?"
"I don't know what you ask me, but let me go; you hurt me; I shall be
obliged to call for help."
"But is it really she, after all? I must confound her.--Raymond!"
I turned toward my companion, and not until then did I notice his
piteous expression and terrified eyes; I released his arm, and, becoming
a little calmer, asked him what the matter was.
"The matter! Faith! you seem to have attacks of brain fever; you squeeze
my arm so that you make me yell, and you utter exclamations that I don't
understand."
"I was thinking about something that I'll tell you of later. But let us
go back to this intrigue of your friend: it interests me very much.
Monsieur de Grandmaison sups to-night with his new conquest?"
"Yes, to-night."
"I am very curious to see this woman who you say is so pretty."
"Faith! so am I, for I don't know her any more than you do, and I am
looking forward to seeing her."
"What! you are to see her?"
"Certainly; I am invited to the supper, with five or six agreeable
roués, intimate friends of Grandmaison. As he is naturally a little
stupid, when he has told a woman that he'd like--you understand--he
can't think of anything else to say to her to amuse her; and as he
desires to be sparing of his pleasures, because he's not so robust as
you and I are, he reserves his ardor for the night; he always invites a
number of friends to supper, in order to put his charmer in the right
mood."
"A most excellent device, and very pleasant for his guests!"
"You must understand that we always get something out of it. These
women, when they have a large stock of susceptibility, are never
satisfied with Grandmaison, who's an invalid!"
"I understand: you are his friend and deputy."
"I am whatever anyone wants me to be! Oh! we have great sport at these
little supper parties! we laugh like lunatics! The food is delicious and
the wines exquisite! no constraint, no ceremony; we joke and sing and
drink; and the jests, the puns, the remarks with a double meaning, the
spicy anecdotes, the smutty couplets! There's a rolling fire of them;
everybody talks at once, and nobody hears what the others say; it's
delicious!"
"You make me regret that I am not one of you."
"Would you like to be, my dear fellow? Parbleu! if you would, I will
venture to introduce you."
"Really! could you do it?"
"I can do anything I choose! you know very well that everything succeeds
that I undertake."
"I had forgotten that. But this Monsieur de Grandmaison doesn't know
me."
"What difference does that make? I know you, and that's enough!
Introduced by Raymond, you will be welcome."
"Do you think that I might venture?"
"Why, of course! So long as a man is hilarious and tells amusing
stories, he's sure of being well received at Grandmaison's; that's why
he's so fond of me."
"Oh! if it's only a matter of providing amusement, I promise you some
for this evening."
"You're our man; it's agreed, then. Meet me at the Café Anglais at ten
o'clock; that's the hour of meeting."
"I will be there, I give you my word."
"But if you will accept my advice, you'll take a little orange-flower
water to calm your nerves."
"Never fear! I shan't have another attack."
"Good-bye, then, until ten o'clock to-night!"
Raymond left me, and I reflected long upon all that I had learned. The
woman was Caroline; I could not doubt it; and yet a feeble ray of hope
still gleamed in the depths of my heart. I determined to go to her, but
to conceal my feelings, and to try, if possible, to read her heart, to
detect her treachery in her eyes. But, above all, I would be sensible,
philosophical, and try to penetrate myself with the truth of these two
lines:
"Let dandies rage, let fools cry lack-a-day;
The wise man, cozened, silent goes away."