"Will you be as long again without letting me hear from you?" she asked,
as I rose to go.
"No, madame; I shall take frequent advantage of the permission you
accord me to come to see you and listen to your singing. I trust that
you will not consider that I abuse it."
"Be assured, monsieur, that I shall never complain of that. You love
music, and we will sing together sometimes. I go out very little; and it
will be very good of you to make one of our little circle."
She was a charming woman. I am inclined to think that I say that every
time my heart takes fire. But, no matter; I may as well repeat it, as
the same sentiments were constantly renewed in my heart. What she had
said to me could not have been more amiable. She could not see me too
often--that was almost a declaration! I left her, with the most
flattering hopes stirring in my breast, believing that I was adored
already. To be sure, according to what Raymond had told me, it would not
be her first weakness; he had spoken, I think, of three or four
_inclinations_. But I refused to judge Madame de Marsan according to the
remarks of my neighbor, who was a liar and a slanderer.
"I will go to her house this evening," I thought. But, no; that would be
altogether too soon! I had vowed never again to go so fast in an
intrigue, but to try to learn first of all the character of the woman
who attracted me, to avoid letting my sentiments appear until I was sure
of hers; and lo! I had taken fire already! I wanted to obtain everything
at once! Ah! I was incorrigible; I should never know how to spin out a
genuine romance.
I determined not to go to Madame de Marsan's again for two days.
Meanwhile, I must have distraction; not that I was still thinking of
Mademoiselle Caroline! so far as she was concerned, I was thoroughly
cured; indeed, I had concluded that the wound was not very deep.
However, if I were left to my own devices, my natural impatience would
drive me to Madame de Marsan. But had I not always Nicette to oppose to
ennui, sorrow, and, above all, new love affairs?--I would see her; but
not yet, for it was only two o'clock. I should be seen talking with her,
and that was what I did not want. I must wait until night; so I went
home, thinking that I would try to straighten out my affairs a little
before dinner.
I found there a letter from my sister. Poor Amélie! She complained that
I had entirely forgotten her. In truth, it was now September, and I had
not yet been to see her. If I could have gone for two or three days; but
that was impossible! when I was once there, she would never let me
go.--She wrote of a superb match she had found for me: sixteen years
old, beauty, virtue, and fortune. I agreed that the combination was
dazzling, but it did not tempt me as yet; perhaps in two or three
years--we would see. I made up my mind, however, to go to Amélie and her
husband for a fortnight during the autumn; indeed, it was essential that
I should do something to set my affairs in order, for my liaison with
the flowermaker had disarranged them sadly. The deuce! at the rate
things had been going, my income would soon have disappeared. I was much
indebted to her for leaving me soon enough to prevent my ruining myself.
With six months of strict economy, I should be able to pay my debts; for
six months, therefore, I would abstain from those passions that cost so
dear; Mademoiselle Caroline had proved that the women for whom we do the
most are not the ones who love us best.
At nightfall, I went to see Nicette. Her shop was closed; but I saw a
light through the glass over the door. I knocked softly, fearing to
attract the attention of the neighbors. I had every appearance of a
lover who is afraid of being seen.
"Who is there?" she asked.
"It's I, Nicette; it's----"
But I did not need to give my name; the door was already open and she
was before me. I entered the shop, closing the door behind me; then
paused to examine the girl, who was all alone amid the flowers and
shrubs which filled the whole shop, save a small space where there were
a table and a chair. The table was covered with paper, pens, and books;
and a single candle lighted that little room, where the different
flowers diffused a most agreeable odor.
She bade me sit beside her.
"How kind you are to come to see me, Monsieur Dorsan, and to think of me
sometimes!"
"Don't you think of me, Nicette?"
"Oh! all the time! but that's no reason why--why--I mean, it's very
different!"
"What were you doing when I came?"
"I was writing, monsieur--learning my lesson."
She blushed as she said it. I glanced at the table and saw several
sheets of paper covered with large letters--a name written again and
again--and that name, mine! Poor Nicette!
I looked at her; she blushed even more, and stammered, lowering her
eyes:
"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for taking your name for a copy; but I
thought that my benefactor's name ought to be the first thing that I
wrote."