The new apartment, in which we installed ourselves at once, was large,
convenient, and well arranged. I noticed that there was a room adjoining
my study, where I could easily have a bed placed in case my wife should
be indisposed and should prefer to sleep alone; for it is well to
anticipate everything.
We had two servants, a maid and a cook; those were all that we needed. I
had neither horses nor intrigues, consequently I had no occasion for the
services of a Frontin or a Lafleur, who, having nothing to do, would be
driven to emptying my wine cellar, seducing my maid-servants, and
robbing me, to pass the time away.
During the first fortnight after our arrival in Paris, my wife did not
give me a moment's rest; I had to take her everywhere: to drive, to the
theatre, to concerts, to the monuments and curiosities of every sort.
She compelled me to go all over the city with her in the mornings, being
determined to become acquainted with every quarter. She was never weary
of gazing in admiration at the Palais-Royal, and she would stand by the
half-hour in front of milliners' and dry goods shops; she was in
ecstasies, in the seventh heaven!--All the people, the noise, the
vehicles, the beautiful dresses, the young men who, on the fashionable
promenades and at the theatres, ogle women so respectfully and make such
pretty grimaces to those who meet their approval--all these fascinated
Madame Dorsan, who began to lift her eyes and even to flash some very
innocent little glances therefrom. Oh! as for that, I was sure it would
come.
I knew Paris by heart; I got a little tired of parading through the
streets every day; still, a husband should be obliging. Thank heaven!
the time came when there was nothing more to see unless we began over
again; which my wife would not have been sorry to do; but I needed rest.
Moreover, she discovered that a young wife could without impropriety go
out alone in the morning; she knew our quarter very well, and I saw that
she would make the most of the liberty I gave her.
At last I could breathe freely. I was tired to death of plays, driving,
and questions; I was delighted to be alone. I had as yet had no time to
visit my little apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin. If my wife had known
that I had a bachelor apartment, if her aunt had learned of it, I should
have been adjudged guilty of carrying on secret intrigues. But I had no
desire for anything of the sort; never again would I take any woman to
my former lodgings. I wished that I had never taken one there.
There was one spot which I longed yet dreaded to pass. While escorting
my wife about Paris, I had always managed to avoid taking her there.
Why? I had no very clear idea; but I wanted to go there first alone; I
should be more at liberty to stop; I should find my friend the messenger
there, and perhaps I might---- But, no; I would not question him; what
need had I to do it now?
My wife was asleep; it was only eight o'clock, and we did not breakfast
until ten; I had time to go out for a moment. I proposed to visit my
former lodgings; I walked in that direction, but it was also the
direction in which Nicette lived. Passing through Rue Saint-Honoré, I
had not the strength to resist the secret longing that impelled me
toward the flower shop. I walked very fast at first, but the nearer I
approached it, the more I slackened my pace. I did not intend to go in,
nor did I intend to speak to her; but I felt that I would like to see
her.
I saw the shrubs standing in front of the shop; I crossed the street in
order not to be on the same side. If I should pass close to her, she
might speak to me, and I knew that at the sound of her voice I should
stop in spite of myself.
I made up my mind at last to pass, and I walked very quickly, just
glancing across. But I did not see her; I saw a woman with an ordinary
face--oh! not in the least like Nicette. Thereupon I crossed over and
walked by the shop; she was not there. I turned, walked back, and
stopped, pretending to examine the flowers. The woman came to me and
asked:
"Does monsieur wish to buy something?"
"No, no!" I said, and walked away toward my messenger's stand; I was
impatient to question him. But he was not there; I waited nearly an
hour, and at last he came; he recognized me at once.
"Your servant, monsieur; if I'd known you was here---- It's a long time
since I saw you, monsieur."
"That is true; and during that time?"
"Bless me! there's been lots of changes; the pretty flower girl ain't
there any more."
"She isn't?"
"No, monsieur; she sold her stock to Mère Thomas, who you see yonder in
her place."
"She sold her stock?"
"Yes, monsieur, and sold it well, too; for it's a good shop. But they
say Mamzelle Nicette didn't need it, because she'd made her
fortune--come into money."
"And where is she now?"
"Bless my soul! monsieur, I don't know; she didn't say where she was
going, and we don't never see her now."
"And that man who used to come to see her every day?"
"Why! he kep' on coming, but not so often toward the end."
"Did he take her away?"
"I don't know nothing about it, monsieur; but I'm inclined to think she
sold her stock of her own accord."
"When was that?"
"Why, near six weeks ago."
"And you don't know where she's gone?"
"No, monsieur."
I paid the messenger and walked away; it was useless to question him any
further. Nicette had left her shop; what had become of her? what was she
doing? was she living with Raymond? That seemed impossible. Could he
have hired an apartment for her? I did not know what to think, but I
hastened to Rue Saint-Florentin.
My concierge uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me.
"Ah! there you are, monsieur! We really thought you must be dead! Do you
know you've been away almost six months?"
"I know it, Madame Dupont. Give me my keys, please."
"In a minute, monsieur, in a minute. I've taken good care of your rooms,
I've had your furniture beaten every month, and I've scrubbed and----"
"Oh! I'm not at all disturbed. By the way, does Monsieur Raymond still
live on my landing?"
"No, monsieur, no; he's left, and in his place----"
"Do you know his address?"
"Yes, monsieur; he left it here; he lives now on Rue Pinon, near the
Opéra, No.---- Oh, dear! I've forgotten, but it will come to me. Here's
your keys, monsieur."
"And that number, Madame Dupont?"
"It's surprising; I knew it just the other day. But it ain't a long
street."
"That's very lucky."
"Oh! wait a minute! I forgot, it was so long ago! I've got a letter for
you; it's been here six weeks."
"A letter!"
"Yes. A young woman brought it."
"A woman! give it to me, pray."
"Here it is, monsieur."
I took the letter and hastened upstairs to my room, to escape the
concierge's chatter. Once more I was in that dear apartment! how glad I
was to be there! But the letter! It seemed to me that the writing--ah! I
dared not hope--I broke the seal; it was she--Nicette--who had written
to me!
"MONSIEUR:
"It's a long time since you came to see me, and I didn't know why
you had abandoned me; you seemed to be angry the last time you
spoke to me, and I thought you were angry with me, but I couldn't
guess why. To-day I have heard that you are married; I know that
you can't think of me any more, or speak to a flower girl. I take
the liberty of writing to you only to say good-bye. I am going to
sell my shop and go away to some place where I can be alone, not
see anybody, and cry all I want to; for I am very unhappy, and I
can't get over it; it isn't my fault. I have inherited a lot of
money from my mother and an aunt who's left me all she had, and I
have more than enough to live on. But I don't forget that I owe you
everything, that you took pity on me when everybody else abandoned
me, and saved me from want. I shall never forget it! Adieu,
monsieur! I wish you every happiness in your home; may your wife
make you happy! she must love you dearly! Adieu, my dear
benefactor!
"NICETTE."
I read the letter several times. I could not help putting my lips to the
characters she had traced. Was that the language of a deceitful woman?
And yet I saw--saw with my own eyes Raymond sitting beside her, holding
her hands. I knew that he saw her every day; he himself told me so; but
could I place any faith in what Raymond said? Ah! if I had not seen him
with her!
But why torment myself so? Was she not lost to me forever? was I not
married? It did not occur to me to be false to my wife, but I longed to
know whether Nicette loved me! I resolved to find Raymond and to try to
make him talk; that was not difficult, but to make him tell the truth
was no easy task.
It was late, and as my wife might be disturbed by my absence I returned
to her, but with the firm intention to visit my old lodgings again, and
often.
I carefully folded Nicette's letter and took it away with me when I left
my bachelor apartment for my home.
Who could have told Nicette that I was married? My concierge did not
know it; if she had, she would surely have mentioned it to me. It must
have been Raymond. But how did he know? I was considering this question
as I approached my house, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned
and saw Raymond! Never, I must confess, had the sight of him afforded me
so much pleasure.
"Well! here you are, my dear fellow!"
"Good-morning, Monsieur Raymond!"
"So you're in Paris now, eh?"
"As you see."
"Dear Dorsan! it seems a century since I saw you!"
"I assure you that I too am very glad to see you."
"Really? such an excellent friend! By the way, accept my
congratulations; I understand that you have made a magnificent marriage,
that you have a divine wife!"
"Oho! you know that, do you?"
"Yes; one of my friends, who happened to be at Melun, told me; you must
have met him in society--Monsieur Regnier?"
"Yes, I believe I do remember him."
"Well! it was he who told me the whole story. Ah! I was almost angry
with you.--'What!' I said to myself; 'my dear Dorsan, my friend, is
married, and doesn't let me know! me, who am so interested in his
welfare!' Oh! it was very ill done of you!"
"You are too kind, really; but my wife is expecting me, and I cannot
stay any longer. And yet, I should be glad to talk with you. Won't you
breakfast with me?"
"Won't I!"
"I will introduce you to my wife."
"I shall be enchanted to make her acquaintance."
Raymond accompanied me home; he seemed delighted by the cordiality of my
greeting, especially as it was so unusual. He did not suspect that my
eager desire to talk with him was due to the fact that he alone could
tell me about Nicette, where she was and what she was doing. But I felt
that I must be prudent and not question him too abruptly; otherwise, he
would divine my sentiments, and it was more necessary than ever that I
should force them back into the depths of my heart.
When we reached the house, I found that my wife was not anxious about
me, for she was breakfasting without me. I presented Raymond, who
confounded himself in compliments and high-flown praise which must have
bored Pélagie; but women of little intellect often attach the greatest
value to compliments; with such women one can make one's self most
agreeable with commonplace remarks, and in that respect Raymond was well
endowed.
The conversation, therefore, was confined to the pleasures of Paris, and
the sensation that such a woman as my wife must cause in society; for
Raymond always came back to that; he could not understand how a woman
who had always lived in the provinces could be so pretty and have such
distinguished manners; he was inexhaustible, but I breakfasted without
listening to him. As for Pélagie, having learned that she might smile at
another man than her husband, she smiled at each of Raymond's
compliments, which gave her a chance to show her teeth.
I saw that I could not mention Nicette that morning; my wife did not
leave the room; so I must needs be patient.
"Where do you live?" I asked Raymond.
"Rue Pinon, No. 2. I have left my old lodgings; you had ceased to be my
neighbor, and they had lost all their charm."
"I mean to come to see you."
"Oh! don't put yourself to that trouble; a bachelor is seldom at home; I
will come to see you, with your permission, and pay my respects to
madame now and then."
"You will gratify us."
"But I must leave you now; I have three appointments for this morning. I
have so many acquaintances! and not a moment to myself! Adieu, my dear
friend!--Madame, I lay at your feet the homage that your charms
deserve."
And Raymond took his leave, well pleased with his last compliment. He
was the same as ever.
"That gentleman is very pleasant," said Pélagie, when he had gone.
She thought him charming; I was sure that she would. That my wife should
like Raymond did not surprise me; but Nicette!
I dared not call on Raymond the same day; but the next day I could wait
no longer, and I went to see him. He was not in; he had already gone
out.
"Does he live alone?" I asked the concierge.
"Yes, monsieur; all alone."
I went away; I would have liked to know more, but I was almost sure that
Nicette did not live with him. I left my name with the concierge, so
that Raymond might know that I had been to see him; that would bring him
to my house, and perhaps I might be able to speak with him alone.
He did not fail to come the next day. He was extraordinarily touched by
my kindness in calling on him. He promised to show his attachment for
me by coming often to see me.
I paid little heed to all the pretty things he said to me; I was vexed
because my wife did not leave us. How could I find an opportunity to
talk of Nicette? Parbleu! I would ask Raymond to dine; then I would
suggest that we go to the theatre in the evening; after dinner my wife
would go to dress, and she always spent at least three-quarters of an
hour at her toilet; during that time---- Yes, that would do.
I invited Raymond to dine with us informally; he grasped my hand and
squeezed it till he made me wince, so pleased was he with my kindness; I
read in his eyes that he could not understand it. Certainly he must have
found me considerably changed. Doubtless he concluded that it was the
effect of marriage.
The dinner was fairly cheerful; Raymond's conversation never flagged.
Formerly, I was bored to death by his chatter, but it was a distraction
now; for I was not accustomed to hearing conversation, and I began to
experience satisfaction when anyone relieved me from a tête-à-tête with
my wife.
Everything happened as I had foreseen. I proposed the theatre; my
proposition was accepted, my wife went off to dress, and I was alone
with Raymond at last.