you to keep you amused--one by his wit, the other by the way he puts
himself outside of a partridge."
"But what's the meaning of this idea of playing the great man before
everybody?"
"Because we shall have more sport. Besides, you are a count; I must be a
baron at least, in order to travel on equal terms with you."
"But the money will go much faster."
"Bah! we shan't see the end of it for a long while yet; and then, you
have a father, and I an aunt."
"I advise you to rely on them!"
"At all events, you see that your mentor approves of my method."
"Parbleu! you make him tipsy, and he doesn't know what he's saying."
"Don't worry; I'll answer for everything."
When they resumed their journey, the horses, which belonged to Frédéric,
went like the wind. Ménard was slightly dazed by the rapid motion, but
he said to himself: "These nobles always travel at full speed;" and
clung to the door to keep from falling.
At every inn, they were treated with the greatest respect, as men of
high rank. Everywhere they had the best rooms, the daintiest dishes, the
oldest wines. And Ménard was delighted, enchanted, because he believed
that monsieur le baron had put his fifteen thousand francs with the sum
he had handed him, and because he judged him to be too large-hearted
and generous to give a thought to the difference between their
contributions.
In due time, our travellers reached Lyon, having paused on the way only
to admire an occasional view and to give their horses time to breathe.
But they proposed to pass several days in that city. Young Montreville
was very glad of an opportunity to see it and its suburbs, and, above
all, to visit the shores of the Rhône; and his two companions consented,
with pleasure, to tarry some time in a city where they could live as
well as in Paris.
They alighted at one of the best hotels. The noise made by Dubourg, the
distinguished aspect of Frédéric, and the pains that Ménard took to
repeat again and again: "You have the honor of entertaining Monsieur le
Baron Potoski, Palatine of Rava, and the young Comte de Montreville,"
attracted universal attention and consideration to the young men, who
seemed disposed to spend money freely, which is the best of
recommendations at a hotel.
They were quartered in a superb suite on the first floor. Their meals
were served in their rooms, and everything had to be of the best.
Dubourg was the one who gave all the orders; Frédéric interfered with
none of the details, beyond saying to his friend:
"Be careful what you do."
Whereupon Dubourg would reply: "Never fear," with such confidence that
the young count finally allowed him to do as he pleased, without
remonstrance.
As for Ménard, he was more enthusiastic than ever about the baron, to
whom he was indebted for such an agreeable life. Frédéric often went out
alone to walk along the bank of the Rhône; fascinated by the beautiful
landscape he discovered, he sometimes did not return to the hotel until
night or the following day. Dubourg, like those liars who end by
believing in their own false-hoods, had so identified himself with the
part he was playing, that he would have struck anyone who expressed a
doubt as to his rank; he amused himself, during his friend's absences,
by displaying his magnificence in the city. Leaning nonchalantly on
Ménard's arm, who, with his hat on the back of his head, the better to
see and be seen, carried himself very straight, walked with much
precision, and strove to assume an air that was both dignified and
affable, when he went out with monsieur le baron--Dubourg walked all
over the city, with a huge three-cornered hat, adorned with a black
plume and a steel buckle, which he wore after the style of one of
Molière's marquises. To be sure, the rest of his costume hardly
corresponded with his hat; but it was no longer fashionable to wear
embroidered coats for walking, and Dubourg had confined himself to
having silver tassels attached to his military boots, considering that
there was a something Polish about them. He left his coat open, because
that gave him a more careless air, and he made frequent use of a huge
eyeglass hanging from his neck by a pink ribbon.
His extraordinary garb attracted every eye. Some took him for an
Englishman, some for a Russian or a Prussian; but if some curious
individual stopped and looked after him with a smile on his face,
Dubourg would flash a glance at him that put an end to any inclination
to laugh at his expense, and conveyed the impression that the stranger,
whoever he might be, was not of a disposition to endure being laughed
at.
But it was necessary to be in the neighborhood of our two friends only a
very short time to ascertain the identity of the gentleman in the plumed
hat, who sauntered along so gracefully with his glass at his eye; for
Monsieur Ménard talked very loud, especially when he saw that someone
was noticing them, and never failed to emphasize the "Baron Potoski," or
"Monsieur le Palatine," when he addressed his companion; sometimes,
indeed, he went so far as to call him "Monseigneur de Rava et de
Sandomir."
They had been in Lyon a week. Frédéric had not begun to tire of visiting
the beautiful suburbs of the city, but Dubourg was beginning to tire of
exhibiting himself in the public streets, arm in arm with Ménard. They
had been to all the places of resort, all the theatres, and all the
cafés; everywhere, Dubourg played the great nobleman, and Ménard
unwittingly acted as his accomplice; for the poor fellow was entirely
honest, and deemed himself highly honored to promenade with his pupil's
noble friend, who was always able to produce an apt quotation and
bewildered him by his anecdotes of travel in the four quarters of the
globe.
For several days, Dubourg had been urging Frédéric to leave Lyon, and he
always postponed their departure to the next day, when one morning
Dubourg received a letter which put an end to his desire to go away.
This letter was addressed to _Monsieur le Baron Potoski, Seigneur
Polonais_. Dubourg read the superscription twice. Who could have written
to him, and by that name? He asked the landlady who had brought the
letter, and was told that it was a servant in livery, who requested that
it be delivered to monsieur le baron in person.
Dubourg hastened to break the seal, and read as follows:
"Monsieur le Baron Potoski is invited to pass this evening with
Madame la Marquise de Versac, who will be delighted to entertain
the noble stranger, at his pleasure, during his stay in Lyon."
The marchioness's address was at the foot of the note, which Dubourg
reread several times, and which diffused an odor of musk and amber
through his room.
"The devil!" said Dubourg to himself; "an invitation from a marchioness!
This is decidedly flattering! But how does she know me? Parbleu! a man
very soon becomes known when he lives with a certain amount of style.
Besides, people must be beginning to talk about me, after I've paraded
the streets for a week with Ménard, like a white bear."
Dubourg summoned the landlady again, and asked her if she knew Madame la
Marquise de Versac.
"The Marquise de Versac? I don't know her personally, but I know her
very well by name. It's one of the oldest and richest families in the
city, and I know madame la marquise has a magnificent country house on
the river, four leagues from Lyon."
Dubourg asked no more questions; he was in raptures. He dismissed the
landlady, and began to pace the floor, saying to himself:
"I shall certainly accept madame la marquise's invitation; the
acquaintance cannot fail to be exceedingly agreeable to me, and, who
knows? perhaps I may find there some baroness or viscountess whose head
I can turn; who will marry me, and endow me with estates and châteaux!
Well, what would there be so surprising in that? I am young, not
bad-looking; I have a certain style, which must have attracted Madame la
Marquise de Versac. But, deuce take me! what if she herself---- Ah! I
forgot to ask about that."
Dubourg rang again, and the landlady reappeared.
"I beg your pardon, my dear hostess," he said; "but I have reasons for
wishing to know if Madame la Marquise de Versac is married."
"She is still a widow, I think, monsieur; it's only three years since
Monsieur de Versac died, and since then I haven't heard----"
"Very good, very good, madame," said Dubourg, dismissing her again; and
he capered about the room, looking at himself in the mirror, and saying:
"She's a widow! there's no doubt about her being a widow still, or the
invitation would be in her husband's name. Now, this becomes
interesting: a very rich young widow, who has a magnificent country
house, and who writes me that she will be charmed to entertain me! for
that's what it says. Let's read it again: yes, 'delighted to entertain
you.'--It seems to me that that almost amounts to a declaration. You
shall entertain me, charming creature! I promise you. By the way, I
forgot to ask if she was charming, but it can't be otherwise; at all
events, I don't care so much for beauty, now; I am reasonable, I am more
attracted by solid advantages. This very evening she shall see the noble
stranger. But, damnation! when she finds out that the palatine is only a
humble bourgeois! After all, I am an honest Breton, and an honest
Breton's as good as any other man; besides, we haven't come to that yet.
I must begin by captivating her. When a woman is fascinated, does she
recognize ranks and distances? Love equalizes everything: the lord of
the thunder loved simple mortals, and the shepherd Paris had it in his
power to lie with the loveliest goddesses in Olympus. To lie with Madame
de Versac, I'll give her all the apples she wants."
Ménard made his appearance while Dubourg was strutting about his
bedroom, trying to assume a courtly air. As soon as he caught sight of
the tutor, he thrust the letter into his face, crying:
"_Tolle, lege_, my dear Ménard."
Ménard recoiled, because the odor of musk exhaled by the letter made him
ill.
"Doesn't that smell rather like a marchioness, eh?" said Dubourg,
inhaling the perfume ecstatically. "Well, Ménard, what do you say to
this letter?"
"I see nothing surprising in it, monsieur le baron; you must be
accustomed to receive similar ones wherever you go."
"True, you are right, Ménard; I don't mean to imply that I am surprised;
I say that the note is well turned, eh?"
"Very well turned, monsieur le baron."
"It was evidently written by a woman who knows her man, wasn't it?"
"Certainly, monsieur le baron, she must know him."
"But I mean that it doesn't resemble such notes as--as little Delphine
had the presumption to write me."
"Who was this Delphine, monsieur le baron?"
"Oh! she was a little countess, on Boulevard du Temple, whose receptions
used to be attended by a large number of noblemen of my stamp."
"Monsieur le baron will accept Madame la Marquise de Versac's
invitation, of course?"
"Accept it? most assuredly. Let us dine at once, Monsieur Ménard, so
that I need think of nothing but dressing. Where's Frédéric?"
"Admiring some new view, no doubt; he told me that he should not return
till evening; I think he intends to leave Lyon to-morrow."
"To-morrow! Oh! we'll see about that; we have all the time there is, and
we're very comfortable here, aren't we, Monsieur Ménard?"
"Very, monsieur le baron; but, you know, we are traveling for----"
"I know that we shouldn't leave a city till we know it thoroughly, and
Frédéric can't know this city yet, as he's always in the suburbs. You
must persuade him of that, Monsieur Ménard."
"I will do my utmost, monsieur le baron."
Dubourg ate little dinner; he was too much engrossed by thoughts of his
evening to have any appetite; a child does not eat, when his father has
promised to take him to the play. We are big children; the anticipation
of a new pleasure always produces the same effect on us.
Dubourg deliberated concerning his toilet. If he had had time, he would
have ordered a dress-coat; but he must needs be content with one of
Frédéric's, who was much more slender than he, so that he could never
button it. Should he go in top-boots? That would be rather too informal,
his hostess being a marchioness. But he had no trousers; Frédéric's were
too small for him, and it was not the same with them as with a coat,
which one is always at liberty to leave unbuttoned. Ménard would lend
him a pair, but they would be too large; so he decided to go in boots;
he was a foreigner, a Pole, that fact would be his excuse; moreover,
his silver tassels pleased him immensely.
At eight o'clock, Dubourg had been dressed more than an hour, and was
pacing the floor of his room, his plumed hat under his arm, practising
dignified bows, graceful smiles, and a noble bearing. He had put the
whole contents of his treasury in his pocket, and, having no watch, he
thought for a moment of taking his steel loop from his hat and placing
it in his fob; but it might be recognized as having been on his hat, so
he contented himself with a red ribbon, of which he showed only the end.
The clock struck nine at last, the hour at which one may decently appear
in society; a carriage was waiting; he entered it, and gave the driver
the address indicated on the note.
The carriage stopped in a lonely street, before a house of poor
appearance. Dubourg alighted. A lackey, there being no concierge, stood
at the door of the house, apparently posted there as a sentinel; and he
lost no time in ushering Dubourg up a dirty staircase, at the foot of
which were two lamps that seemed surprised to be there. But Dubourg was
going over in his mind the sentence he had prepared for his salutation
to the marchioness, and he did not notice the uncleanness of the house.
The servant opened a door on the first floor and entered an anteroom,
wherein the eye sought in vain any article of furniture; although it was
dimly lighted, the spots of grease on the walls and the soiled,
discolored floor could be plainly seen. But the servant led Dubourg
through this room at a rapid pace, and, opening another door into the
salon, announced in a loud tone:
"Monsieur le Baron Potoski!"
At that name, there was a great commotion in the salon, and a lady rose
and rushed forward to meet Dubourg, expressing in the most cordial terms
her pleasure in receiving him as her guest.
Dubourg answered whatever came into his head; he walked into the room,
saluting to right and left, and dropped into a chair beside the Marquise
de Versac, whom he then took occasion to scrutinize. He saw that he had
been wise not to indulge his imagination in advance. The mistress of the
house was a woman who seemed to be fully forty-five years of age,
despite the care with which she had blackened her eyebrows, reddened her
lips, and whitened her complexion. She was fashionably dressed, but her
gown, which had a long train, seemed to embarrass her; her head was
overladen with flowers and ribbons, and a triple necklace of pearls
embellished a long, yellow neck, rising pitifully above a pair of
fleshless shoulders, which the marchioness was barbarous enough to
expose to all eyes, as if they were pleasing to the sight.
Dubourg did not stop to examine all that; he remembered what his
landlady had said to him, and tried to think the marchioness charming.
While she addressed him in the most flattering terms, he cast a glance
about the salon.
An antiquated chandelier, suspended from the ceiling, lighted the room,
which was very large; the hangings must once have been handsome, but
were beginning to show too many signs of age. The floor was covered with
an immense rug, which was never made for a salon. The covering of the
furniture was of two colors: there was a blue ottoman and yellow chairs;
and the latter were not alike. In default of a clock, there was an
enormous jar of flowers in the centre of the mantel, and a number of
candlesticks on either side. Several card-tables of different sizes
completed the furnishing of that salon, which seemed to Dubourg to be
quite as venerable as Madame de Versac's family.
Having examined the room, Dubourg turned his attention to the company.
There were only three ladies besides the marchioness. One, who seemed to
be about sixty years old, and who was called the baroness, talked
incessantly of her estates, her châteaux, her property, and her
servants; she talked so loud that there was not a moment's silence. A
young woman, who was rather pretty, but seemed rather awkward, and did
not open her mouth except to laugh or to say _yes_ or _no_, was called
the Vicomtesse de Fairfignan; while the third, who was apparently about
thirty years old, and whom they called Madame de Grandcourt, was half
reclining on the ottoman, evidently disposed to flirt; for she cast
languorous glances at all the men, and made abundant use of her eyes,
which had been handsome, but were so encircled with black that her
eyebrows seemed to extend all the way round.
There were seven or eight men in the company; all of them seemed to be
counts, or barons, or chevaliers, but not one of them, either in dress
or bearing, gave any sign of wealth or rank. Monsieur le chevalier had a
frock-coat, the sleeves of which were so short that they were far from
reaching his wrists; and when he drew his handkerchief, he took great
care to turn his back and conceal it from the company.
The count wore torn lace wristbands, and a ruff stained with liquor and
tobacco. He seemed to take great satisfaction in displaying his hands,
which were covered with huge rings with red and yellow stones; but the
blackness of the hands themselves produced a curious effect beside the
wristbands and the jewels.
The baron, who had his hair powdered, and seemed much embarrassed by his
queue, which kept getting inside his collar, wore a new black coat and
an old pair of nankeen trousers, over which dangled charms in the shape
of fruit and shells.
The other men were dressed in the same style.
"Sacrebleu!" thought Dubourg, astounded by the aspect of all those noble
personages; "if my landlady hadn't told me what she did about the
Marquise de Versac, I should imagine that I was at an old-clothes
dealer's, with a parcel of counts from Rue Vide-Gousset."
Meanwhile, the conversation did not flag. Everybody talked and laughed
at once. They manifested the greatest consideration for Baron Potoski;
the marchioness overwhelmed him with attentions, the old baroness
invited him to visit her in the country, the viscountess smiled upon
him, and Madame de Grandcourt flashed glances at him the meaning whereof
was not at all equivocal, while the men applauded everything he said.
Dubourg was flattered by these attentions, for the shrewdest and
cleverest men generally allow themselves to be cajoled by anything that
flatters their self-esteem.
Punch, liqueurs, and sweetmeats were served, and the whole company
pounced upon them. The old baroness drank like a porter, the viscountess
stuffed herself with cakes, and the languorous Grandcourt swallowed two
glasses of punch in rapid succession, exclaiming that it was not strong
enough.
Dubourg imitated his neighbors; he helped himself to punch, and
complimented Madame de Versac on the liveliness of her company.
"Oh! we don't stand on ceremony," she replied; "what's the use of
tedious formalities between people who are all as good as one another?"
"True, you are right; I like this sort of thing," said Dubourg,
beginning already to feel the effects of the punch. "Etiquette is a
burden that people of sense should leave at the door."
"Ah! Monsieur de Potoski, you talk like Barême!" said the old baroness,
returning to the punch. "You are a palatine of the old stock."
"Not very old, madame."
"But the best, at all events," said Madame de Versac, resting her foot
lightly on Dubourg's; whereupon he turned and tried to gaze tenderly at
her, at the same time passing his hand behind the marchioness, who
allowed him to take liberties without seeming to notice it, which
Dubourg considered very patrician behavior.
"For my part, I like to talk nonsense," said the young viscountess, who
was beginning to venture upon a sentence or two, now that she had eaten.
"It makes me tired when[B] everyone's sober-faced."
[B] "_Ousqu'on_ est serieux," instead of _quand on_, etc.
The viscountess's _ousqu'on_ made Dubourg wince; Madame de Versac
noticed it, and made haste to whisper to him:
"She's a German; she speaks with a strong accent."
"But aren't you going to give us something to do this evening, madame la
marquise?" said the chevalier, pulling at his sleeves to lengthen them.
"That's so, my love," said the baroness; "why don't we play cards?"
"Ah! yes, let us do something," said Madame de Grandcourt, rolling her
eyes seductively; "I must always be doing something."
"Perhaps Monsieur de Potoski does not play?" said the marchioness,
turning to Dubourg.
"I beg your pardon, madame; I shall be very glad to play."
"In that case, I will start the tables. You are sure that you care to
play, baron?"
"With great pleasure, madame," said Dubourg, overjoyed to have an excuse
for removing his hand, which he was tired of holding behind Madame de
Versac's back.
Several games of écarté were begun. The chevalier proposed a game of
_creps_ for the ladies; whereupon Dubourg said to himself:
"It seems that the ladies of the best society have tastes very different
from their sisters of the bourgeoisie; perhaps madame la marquise is
fond of _biribi_ too."
Monsieur de Potoski found himself at an écarté table with the count,
whose lace cuffs did not prevent his dealing the cards with rare skill.
The game soon became animated. A tall, thin gentleman, who stood near
Dubourg, bet rolls of twenty-five louis on his game, which he placed on
the table without unrolling them, and which passed rapidly into the
count's pockets, the tall man, whose threadbare costume might have led
one to take him for an unfortunate petitioner for alms, seeming to pay
no heed whatever to his loss.
"These men play a very noble game," said Dubourg to himself; and, not
choosing to be outdone by the person who was betting on him, he doubled
his stakes, and his money passed into the hands with the lace cuffs. But
the punch circulated freely; to please Madame de Grandcourt, it had
been made much stronger; the company began to get excited and the game
became animated.
Madame de Versac seated herself beside Dubourg.
"I mean to bring Monsieur de Potoski good luck," she said, sitting close
against him, and showing a row of teeth set like a wild boar's tusks.
"I trust that you will change the luck, madame!" observed Dubourg, who
had already lost more than a thousand francs, which he was determined to
win back. Madame la marquise made no other reply than to place her foot
lovingly on his. With each game that Dubourg lost, she bore down a
little heavier, and tried to make him forget his bad luck by saying
sweet things to him; but Dubourg did not listen.
"I hope to see you often, Monsieur de Potoski."
"Yes, madame.--Ten louis more, this time."
"I am a bold player," said the count; "I'll take whatever you bet."
"Yes, of course, monsieur le comte will give you your revenge," said the
marchioness, "if you lose to-night."
"If I lose!" muttered Dubourg; "I should say so! almost two thousand
francs! What a breach in my cash-box!"
"You must come to my country house on the Rhône, my dear Potoski. I
insist on your coming."
"Yes, madame la marquise; yes, most certainly.--The king is always in
the other hand! it's the most extraordinary thing!"
"We will walk in my park."
"Beaten again!"
"We will enjoy the fresh, cool breezes in the evening."
"It's stifling here!"
"Pray take something."
"I should be glad to take back just what I have lost."
"Do you remain long in Lyon?"
"The devil take me if I know!"
And Dubourg, who had lost three thousand francs, and was tired of
feeling madame la marquise's foot on his, rose abruptly and walked about
the room.
Madame de Grandcourt was stretched out on a long chair in a corner. A
short man with whiskers and moustache sat on a stool almost at her feet;
he had passed one arm about his charmer's waist, and the hand of the
other was screened from view by the folds of a faded satin gown.