On the following morning, at nine o'clock, my doorbell rang. I was still
in bed, reviewing the events of the evening, and laughing at that which
had been powerless hitherto to extort a smile from me, because a single
sentiment had filled my mind and prevented me from considering the scene
from its comic side. But now that my head was cool, my heart tranquil,
and my mind no longer tormented by the anticipation of what was to
happen, I thought of the different personages I had left at Monsieur de
Grandmaison's house; I fancied that I could see them gathered about the
lost supper, lost by the exertions of Monsieur Raymond; and I laughed
all by myself, as if I were still in their midst.
If at that moment some inquisitive mortal, escorted by the _Diable
Boiteux_ or some other imp, had perched on the roof of my house and
amused himself by watching me, he would have thought, no doubt, that I
was temporarily insane. For my own part, I cannot see that it was any
more extraordinary to laugh at those reminiscences than it would have
been to weep at them; but we are never astonished to see a person shed
tears; whereas, if you laugh all by yourself, you are looked upon as a
madman or an idiot. Can it be that tears are more natural to man than
laughter?
My concierge, who, as I believe I have already told you, did my
housework every morning, opened my door and ushered in my neighbor
Raymond, who, seeing that I was in a hilarious mood, thought that his
presence was responsible for it, and stood for a moment uncertain
whether to be angry or to join in my laughter. He prudently adopted the
latter course, and approached my bed chuckling.
"Well, my dear fellow, it was a warm evening! Ha! ha! ha! You are still
thinking about it, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I look to you for the details of the catastrophe."
"And I to you for an explanation."
"Do you want it in the Bois de Boulogne again?"
"No, no! Ah! you fox! the lovely Caroline had some reason for fainting
when she saw you!"
"A perfectly natural reason: I am the young man whom Monsieur de
Grandmaison has replaced."
"Is it possible? Gad! it was a unique situation! And to think that it
was I who took you to the supper and introduced you to poor Grandmaison!
Deuce take it! you never said a word, you did not give me your
confidence, although I am devoted to you, heart and soul!"
"I wanted to arrange a surprise."
"You succeeded mighty well!"
"Tell me how the evening ended?"
"Very dismally. There wasn't any supper. The young woman insisted on
retiring. Poor Grandmaison's face was cut by a bottle of wine that fell
on him, heaven knows how, and we had to leave them at liberty to go to
bed. But I fancy the night passed very differently from what they
anticipated. We parted in an execrable humor. Rocambolle was angry about
his cotton padding, Zamorin regretted the supper, and the other the
youthful beauty whom he hoped to seduce. I am the only one of the party
who takes everything philosophically, as you know. But I confess that I
was impatient to see you, to learn the cause of the catastrophe which
disturbed the festivities. I came near waking you up last night, in
order to find out earlier."
"You did very well to let me sleep."
"Well, I must go, neighbor; but, I beg you, have a little more
confidence in me another time! You know how close-mouthed I am; you can
safely tell me anything! I always receive it under the seal of secrecy.
I should have made an excellent inquisitor, or an _illuminé_! I love
secrets. In the matter of secrets, I am absolutely impenetrable. For
instance--I am a Freemason: have I ever divulged the secrets of the
order?"
"You have told me that there weren't any."
"True, true; but I said that to deceive you the better. Adieu,
neighbor!--By the way, do you know the news? They say that the Baron de
Witcheritche wears horns. There's a young musician who offered to show
the baroness how to play the serpent; the husband consented, because it
would be one more string to their bow, and it might be useful on
occasion. Moreover, the baron thought that he would compose some little
duets for the violin and the serpent, that he and his wife could perform
in company. So the musician came every morning to give her lessons; but
one fine day, Witcheritche, who was supposed to be in the country,
returned home unexpectedly; he found the teacher's method of instruction
too progressive and the baroness too apt. It seems that Witcheritche
wasn't as fond of music as usual that day; for he shrieked and swore;
his wife wept, the musician skipped; in short, there was a scandalous
scene. Little Friquet, whom I happened to meet the other day, told me
about it; he had it from his aunt, who had it from Madame Bertin, who
had it from Crachini, who had it from Gripaille, who had it from a young
lady who lives in the house with Witcheritche. But I say that we
shouldn't be too ready to believe rumors; we should go back to the
fountain head. I am going to the baron's this morning; I shall see
whether he is on cool terms with his wife, and I'll find a way to make
him tell me everything, without seeming to do so, by just mentioning the
serpent. Adieu! I have to finish a little vaudeville for which I have an
order from Rue de Chartres."
"Have you had a play accepted at some theatre?"
"Why, I have had plays accepted everywhere."
"It's strange that they are never produced."
"Oh! I'll tell you why that is: when they are not produced at once, I
withdraw them! I have a will of my own, you know. Withdrawn at once, if
not produced as soon as I request it. It's like my pictures, my little
water-colors, which I don't send to the Salon, for fear they'll be hung
in a bad light. A man should have some pride; veritable talent is
centred within itself, and there always comes a time when its envelope
is pierced.--Adieu, neighbor! I'll give you a chance to dress."
"That man ought to be happy," I said to myself, thinking of Raymond; "he
has no doubt of anything; he believes himself to be intellectual,
talented, and handsome. If a woman doesn't listen to him, it's because
she's afraid of loving him too well; if his poems are not printed, it's
because the publishers are ignorant; if his plays are not accepted, a
cabal of authors is responsible: his self-esteem does not allow him to
look at things from any but a flattering point of view. I am convinced
that he believes himself to be courageous, although he fought a duel
with bulletless pistols; and that he would consider himself a soldier if
he were in the band of the national lottery; just as he thinks he has a
fine leg because he has fat calves, and beautiful hair because he's as
woolly-headed as a negro. However, he is happy, and that's the main
point. Happy people are not so rare as they are said to be; for there
are many in the world who resemble neighbor Raymond."
If it had not been so late, I would have gone to see Nicette; to read in
her eyes that sentiment so sweet, so affectionate, and, perhaps, so
true, that I had never found in Mademoiselle Caroline's lovely eyes; I
say _perhaps_, for I dared not trust anything or anybody.
On going out I unconsciously took the direction of Rue Caumartin, nor
did I stop until I reached the corner of that street and the boulevard.
It was all a matter of habit; habit is responsible for many things that
we do. In fact, it is a sort of second nature, it binds us in default of
love. How many people there are who have ceased to love each other, and
who remain together from habit! I do not refer to those who are married;
they cannot do otherwise.
In order to put an end the sooner to that habit, which could not be very
deeply rooted, as my intimacy with Caroline had lasted only two months,
I determined to call upon Madame de Marsan, with whom I recalled that I
had been more or less in love. At all events, I owed her a visit for the
invitation which she had sent me, and of which I had been unable to
avail myself, thanks to my travelling companion.
She lived on Faubourg Saint-Honoré, I remembered, near the first street
on the right; in any event, I could inquire; rich people are well known
and are always easy to find; it is only the poor who are ashamed of
their poverty whom no one knows; but then, it is so seldom that anyone
seeks them. I bent my steps toward Faubourg Saint-Honoré and inquired
for Monsieur de Marsan. Three or four persons eagerly showed me his
house, pointed it out with their fingers. Evidently Monsieur de Marsan
was a very wealthy man! everybody knew him or wished to appear to know
him. Really, wealth is a fine thing!
His house was, in fact, of imposing aspect; less elegant, less
ostentatious perhaps, than Monsieur de Grandmaison's; but I suspected
that it was more productive, and to a man of calculating mind that
advantage is certain to outweigh others. It was only twelve o'clock;
might I see madame? It was very early for the first call on a pretty
woman, especially one who has passed her thirtieth year. The further a
lady recedes from her springtime, the more time she spends at her
toilet, so that she cannot be visible very early. At fifteen, a girl
appears just as she happens to be; at twenty, she receives callers in a
simple négligé; at twenty-five, she poses before her mirror for some
time before she appears; at thirty, she takes much pains with her
toilet; at thirty-six--but that would carry us too far; let us pause at
thirty-six.
The concierge told me to go up to the first floor, the left-hand door;
that led to madame's apartment. Monsieur's offices were on the ground
floor. I walked through several rooms, and found at last a young
lady's-maid--who was not pretty, and with whom no man was likely to
tarry when he was going to see her mistress. I asked for madame, gave my
name, and the maid went to announce me. I waited only five minutes; that
is not too long to wait to see a pretty woman, when so many wealthy
fools, vulgar parvenus, and public officials have the assurance to keep
visitors waiting an hour before they condescend to show their inane
faces.
"You may enter, monsieur," said the lady's-maid, and she ushered me into
her mistress's presence. This prompt reception seemed to me of favorable
augury.
I found Madame de Marsan sitting on a causeuse in a pretty little room
decorated in the daintiest style, where the light, being filtered
through double curtains and blinds, was very soft. I spied a piano, a
harp, and music. I have a great liking for women who are fond of music,
and a greater for those who play or sing; it is a sure resource in
idleness; and a woman who does nothing thinks too much.
Madame de Marsan received me with an amiable smile, in which I fancied
that I could detect a shade of vexation. I attributed it to the absence
of zeal on my part in calling upon her; and that course of action,
which, however, was not premeditated, served me better than the most
assiduous love-making would have done. She was piqued; she believed that
she had surely subjugated me, and she had not seen me since. In truth,
that must have seemed very strange to her after the way I had ogled her
at the theatre and my conduct at Vauvert's; it surprised myself, for I
now thought her a hundred times prettier than Caroline.
She did not reproach me, however; but I made haste to apologize for
having failed to avail myself of her invitation, and told her what had
happened to Raymond and myself. The story of our adventures at
Montmorency made Madame de Marsan laugh heartily; and merriment, by
banishing the etiquette and formality of a first interview, permitted
our minds to understand each other and our hearts to divine each other.
In order to prolong my visit, I urged Madame de Marsan to sing to me.
She consented, and acquitted herself with a grace and good taste that
fascinated me. She accompanied herself perfectly on the piano; in short,
she was a thorough musician. How she must have suffered at Vauvert's
party!--But I realized that I must not unduly prolong the first
interview. It is judicious to make people desire one's presence, and not
to be too lavish of one's self at first, especially with women who are
accustomed to homage and love-making; in fact, to being assiduously
courted. Hitherto I had never had the art of concealing what I felt;
perhaps I was boasting too soon, but I had determined to be on my guard
in the future! My last adventure had revived all my grievances against a
sex which I could not shun, but to which I would gladly have repaid a
part of the torments it had caused me.