I did not sleep; my mind was too disturbed, my heart too agitated for me
to obtain any rest. All night long I formed plans, prudent, extravagant,
and delicious. Nicette was always included in those charming visions of
the future, which my imagination conceived so readily; I transformed her
into a shepherdess, a great lady, a _demoiselle_; she and I were
together in a palace, in a village, in a desert; but, wherever we were,
we were happy. Ah! how sweet it is to dream waking dreams when one loves
and believes one's self to be loved in return!
I rose at daybreak; I had twenty schemes in my head, and, as usual, I
could not decide upon any one. First of all, I must see Nicette; that
was the most important thing. My toilet was soon completed; I was sure
that I always looked well to her.
I left my room; everybody was still asleep in the house, unless there
was somebody who was very much in love. Madame Dupont, who had ceased to
be amorous, kept me waiting a century before she pulled the cord of the
porte cochère; at last she heard me knocking and shouting at her window,
and I was free.
In less than five minutes I was in front of the shop; it was still
closed. I was surprised; Nicette was usually such an early bird.
Should I wait? should I knock? I stood hesitating in the street, when a
messenger passed. It was the same one I had questioned some time before;
he recognized me, touched his hat as he passed, and took his seat some
twenty yards away. I walked toward him, with no definite idea what I was
going to do. The messenger, who was pleased with my conduct on the
former occasion, hastened to offer me his services.
"I have nothing for you to do, my friend," I said, in a decidedly dismal
tone, mechanically putting a five-franc piece in his hand.
He stared at me in amazement, and waited for me to speak before he
ventured to put the coin in his pocket. I looked toward Nicette's shop
and pointed at it.
"That flower girl is rather late about opening, it seems to me," I said.
"Oh! it's early yet; but still, she's been a bit lazylike for some time.
Well, well! it isn't surprising!"
"Why so?"
"When a woman gets love into her head!"
"How do you know? Who told you she was in love?"
"Oh! a man don't have to be very sharp to see that kind of thing! you
see, I've been on this square twenty year, so I ought to know pretty
well what's going on in the quarter."
"What do you know about this girl? What have you seen? Answer, and keep
nothing back. Here, take this."
I felt in my pocket again and put more silver in the messenger's hand,
whereat his amazement redoubled and he looked into my face for symptoms
of insanity.
"You told me that this girl was virtuous and honest, and that she did
not speak to anybody, because she preferred not to."
"That's true, monsieur, that's true. She's honest enough still; but when
a girl's young, she may take a liking for someone, and----"
"Explain yourself more clearly! What makes you think that?"
"Pardi, monsieur! because I see the fellow come to see her."
So Nicette had deceived me! Nicette did not love me! No, I could not
believe it. I determined to question the man further. I leaned against
the post that adjoined his stone bench; I needed support, for I trembled
at the thought of finding my misery confirmed.
"You say that you see someone come to her shop?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Since when?"
"Why, it was about three weeks ago that the man came prowling around
here; at first he came in the morning, to buy flowers; then he came at
night, just at dusk, and talked a little; then he stayed longer; and
it's got so now that he comes almost every night and talks an hour or
two with the pretty little flower girl. But I think everything's all
straight as yet; the shop door's always open, and unless they meet
somewhere else, which is possible enough, for women are sly, and it
ain't safe to trust to virtuous airs!----"
"What does he look like?"
"Well, he ain't exactly a young man, perhaps about forty years old; nor
he ain't very handsome, either; but as to his get-up, he's one of your
sort, a man who looks as if he was somebody! And you can see that the
little flower girl, who put on airs with us poor folks, might have been
flattered to make the conquest of a swell; that's probably what caught
her!"
"And he comes every night?"
"Yes, monsieur, pretty near; he don't hardly ever miss a night now."
"That's enough."
I strode away from the messenger; the poor fellow had unsuspectingly
torn my heart; at the very moment that I proposed to abandon myself
without reserve to my love for Nicette; to turn my back on society of
which I was weary, so that I might live with her and for her--at that
moment, I lost her thus! She loved another, and I believed myself to be
sure of her love! With that sweet delusion vanished the blissful future
of my waking dreams that morning.
I was still in the street; I could not go away. At last the shop opened;
Nicette appeared; she was pale and downcast; but I had never seen her
when she was so pretty, I had never been so deeply in love with her.
The little traitor--with that innocent air! Alas! had I the right to
complain? had she given me her troth? had I told her that I loved
her?--But was it necessary to tell her so? It seemed to me that we
understood each other so perfectly. We had both been deceived!
Should I speak to her? Of what use was it now? what could I say to her
that would interest her? No; I would not see her or speak to her again;
I would forget her!
I do not know how it happened; but, with the firm intention to avoid
her, I had walked toward her; and I found myself in front of her shop,
where I stopped, in spite of myself.
She came to meet me with an air of constraint; her eyes were red, as if
she had wept much; what could be the cause of her distress? I did not
know what to say, and I stood mute in front of her; she too was
thoughtful.--And this was the interview in which the confidence and
unreserve of love were to reign supreme!--Poor mortals! our plans are
drawn on the sand.
"I came last night," I said at last, in a tone which I strove to render
cold.
"Last night--yes, I saw you, with--with that lady."
"No, I mean a few minutes later--I came back and knocked."
"I was not here."
"I thought you never went out."
"I went out last night."
"You might have been at home, and have preferred not to let me in."
"Why so, monsieur?"
"Sometimes a person doesn't like to be disturbed when she has company."
"Company!"
"Yes, you understand me perfectly well; will you tell me again that you
have no visitors? For the last three weeks, hasn't a gentleman come to
see you--almost every evening?"
She was embarrassed, she blushed. The messenger had not deceived me.
"Well, mademoiselle, you don't answer. Is it the truth?"
"Yes, monsieur, it's the truth."
She admitted it! ah! I would have liked to have her deny it, I should
have been so happy to believe her!--Further doubt was impossible! there
was no more hope for me! I must go. I cast a last glance at her and
left the shop abruptly, for I did not choose to let her see the
suffering she caused me. She made a movement to detain me, then paused
in her doorway, contenting herself with looking after me.
I resolved to think no more of her; she was no better than the rest!--In
truth, I was unlucky in love! I had never yet fallen in with a faithful
woman; they had all deceived me, betrayed me, played fast and loose with
me; but all their perfidies had caused me less pain than I suffered
because of Nicette's inconstancy! She saw that I loved her; all women
see that at a glance! She did everything to attract me! To think that
one so young should be so skilled in feigning love and sensibility and
gratitude! I could never again believe in anything or anybody.
But, before forgetting her entirely, I proposed to see the man who had
replaced me in her heart, the man who had beguiled her, whom she loved!
What a lucky dog he was! At that moment I would have given all that I
possessed to be loved by Nicette.
I had been told that he went to see her every evening; I would see him
that very day. There was a café almost opposite the shop, where I could
wait unobserved, for I did not choose that the ungrateful girl should
witness all the torments of my feeble heart.
I passed the day as best I could, and at five o'clock I betook myself to
Rue Saint-Honoré. When I came in sight of her shop, I looked to see if
she was in the doorway. She was not there, and I slipped into the café
unseen by her. I took my seat at a table that touched the window, and
ordered a half-bowl of punch, because it would naturally take me some
time to drink it. The waiter made me repeat my order; no doubt he took
me for an Englishman or a Fleming; but I cared little. I took up a
newspaper to keep myself in countenance, and kept my eyes fixed on the
flower shop.
The time seems very long when one anticipates a pleasure, and still
longer when one is suffering and in dread. Would the darkness never
come! It was October, and should have been dark at six o'clock. Could it
be that it was not yet six? I looked at the clock; it marked only
half-past five; it was probably slow. I looked at my watch; twenty-five
minutes past five! It was cruel! I tried to drink the punch that was
before me, but it was impossible for me to swallow; I had not dined, but
I had been suffocating since the morning.
At last the daylight faded. How was I to see what happened inside the
shop? how was I to distinguish that man's features? I hoped that she
would have a light. Sure enough, she came out with a light and began to
carry in her flowers. What sadness, what depression in her whole aspect!
She seated herself in the shop, beside the table, but she did not write!
She sighed and glanced often into the street. She was expecting
someone--and it was not I!
It was almost seven o'clock, and no one had appeared. Suppose he should
not come? Should I be any happier then? Had she not agreed that morning
that I knew the truth? And had her blush, her embarrassment, told me
nothing?
A man appeared and entered the shop; he sat down beside her. Great God!
did not my eyes deceive me? It was Raymond! Raymond with Nicette!
Raymond her lover! No, no; that was impossible!
I rushed out of the café to make sure of the truth. Someone ran after me
and stopped me. It was the waiter; I had forgotten to pay. I did not
understand very well what he said, but I put three francs in his hand
and he left me. The darkness allowed me to remain in the street unseen
by Nicette, while I could see her plainly. It was in very truth Raymond
whom I had seen, whom I saw. He was talking to her very earnestly, and
she listened with attention. I read in her eyes the interest she took in
what he was saying; she seemed more distressed than ever, she wept. He
took her hand and squeezed it tenderly! She did not withdraw it! That
lovely hand abandoned to Raymond! Ah! it was all over, I could no longer
doubt my misfortune. I felt that I must fly while I still had strength
to do so, and must never see her again! If only I could at the same time
banish her image from my thoughts! But the idea that she loved Raymond
crushed me, haunted me incessantly! So it was for Raymond's benefit that
I had preserved intact that flower which it would have been so sweet to
me to pluck! I respected her innocence, and this was my reward!
If some respectable young man, of obscure station like herself, had won
her heart while seeking her hand, I might perhaps have consoled myself;
at all events, I should have been proud of having kept her pure and
worthy of his vows. But that such a fellow as Raymond should triumph
over Nicette! By what spell could he have fascinated her? He was neither
young nor handsome; he was a stupid, vain, chattering bore! If there was
anything lovable about him, I had never discovered it! And that was the
man she preferred to me! Oh! these women!
I was no longer surprised at the embarrassment I had observed in
Raymond's manner when we last met. The traitor! so that was why he
avoided me. The fellow was my evil genius, in very truth! He knew that
I knew Nicette; he knew, perhaps, that I loved her. If I had listened to
nothing but my rage, I should have gone to him and insulted him. But how
can one obtain satisfaction from a dastard? and would his death make
Nicette what I formerly believed her to be? I would despise one and
forget the other; that was the only course for me to pursue.
Once more I sought in repose oblivion of my suffering. What a different
night from the last! Last night, forming delightful plans based upon
love and constancy; to-night, cursing that sentiment and the woman who
had inspired it! If the weariness caused by such tempests of emotion
made me doze for a moment, my first thought, on reopening my eyes, was
of all my blasted hopes.
When I was dressed, I could not resist the longing to talk with Raymond.
I promised myself to retain my self-control, to hold myself in check,
and to conceal the state of my heart. I hastened across the landing and
knocked and rang at his door. The concierge knew that he was at home; he
was not in the habit of rising early; still he did not open the door. I
rang again, and that time the bellrope remained in my hand. I heard
sounds at last; I recognized his heavy tread, and soon his nasal tones
greeted my ears.
"Who is it making such a row at my door before seven o'clock? It's
outrageous to wake a man up like this!"
"It's I, neighbor; it's I, Dorsan; I want to talk with you."
For some seconds he did not reply, and when he did I knew by his voice
that he was not gratified by my call.
"What! is it you, my dear neighbor?"
"Yes, it's I."
"What brings you here so early?"
"You shall learn; but first let me in; I don't like to talk through a
door."
"I beg your pardon--you see, I'm in my nightshirt."
"Bah! what difference does it make to me, whether you're in your
nightshirt, or naked, or fully dressed? I have no desire to examine your
person. Open the door! then you can go back to bed; that won't interfere
with my talking to you."
"You see, I passed most of the night writing birthday rhymes; and I am
still sleepy."
"Oh! morbleu! Monsieur Raymond, open the door, or I'll break it down!"
The tone in which I uttered the last words indicated a purpose to carry
out my threat. He did not wait for me to repeat it, but opened the door,
and, running back through his little reception room, jumped into bed,
where he wrapped himself up in the bedclothes, leaving nothing exposed
but his nose and his great eyes, which he turned from side to side with
an air of uneasiness, not venturing to look at me. I followed; the first
thing I saw on entering his bedroom was a dozen or more bunches of
orange blossoms, like those Nicette used to leave at my door; they were
symmetrically arranged on my neighbor's dressing table. That sight tore
my heart, but I had promised myself to be philosophical, so I sat down
beside Raymond's bed and tried to speak very calmly.
"How are you this morning, Monsieur Raymond?"
He gazed at me in amazement.
"Was it to inquire about my health that you broke my bellrope and
threatened to break down my door?"
"Oh! you must know that that was a joke! I had a question I wanted to
ask you.--You have some very pretty bouquets there; it seems that you
too are fond of orange blossoms?"
"Yes, yes; I like their odor very much; it's good for the nerves, and I
am very nervous, you know."
"There's a bond of sympathy between us, for these bouquets bear a
surprising resemblance to those that adorn my bedroom--and for which you
once expressed your admiration."
"Yes, that's true; indeed, I remember now that that was what gave me the
idea of having some myself."
"And are your flower dealer and mine the same?"
He did not know what to say, and his head disappeared for a moment under
the bedclothes.
"Well, neighbor?"
"Oh! I haven't any regular flower dealer; I go sometimes to one,
sometimes to another."
"Come, come, Monsieur Raymond, why fence with me; is this the confidence
of which you claim to set me an example? Are you afraid of making me
angry? Don't be afraid; I ceased to think about little Nicette a long
while ago."
At that, he took his whole head out from beneath the bedclothes, and
looked at me with a surprised and pleased expression.
"What! do you mean it? you have ceased to think about the little flower
girl?"
"I never thought about her!"
"Well! do you know, I almost suspected as much! Besides, we have Madame
de Marsan, who must occupy a good deal of our attention!"
"Never mind Madame de Marsan; tell me about your intrigue with Nicette."
"Oh! it isn't a long story! I confess that I am madly in love with her!
You know how pretty she is!"
"A saucy face!"
"The deuce! saucy! you call her saucy! you are hard to please."
"Well?"
"I go to make love to her almost every night. At first she was a little
inclined to be wild; but I was so skilful at wheedling her, that now she
can't get along without me, and I am sure that she adores me."
"Has she told you so?"
"Almost; besides, those things don't need to be told; they can be seen.
I know women so well!"
"You are more fortunate than I. So you have triumphed?"
"Not altogether as yet; but it won't be long, I am getting ahead very
fast. Look you, with women, just be assiduous, persistent, and
agreeable, and you can be sure of victory! Oh! I'm a crafty dog, I am, a
finished roué! A man must be that, to please the women. Sentiment,
sighs, tender words, those were all right once; nowadays, at the first
meeting, you inflame; at the second, you toy; at the third, you take a
kiss--pinch the knee, squeeze her, and she is yours."