over which he had drawn a very short pair of red and black bathing
drawers, a jacket, a belt, and a broad-brimmed gray hat with the brim
turned down.
“The deuce! there’s a brigand who proposes to show how he is built,”
said Jéricourt.
“Is not my costume pretty, messieurs?” asked the druggist, addressing
the two young men, whom he recognized as persons to whom he had several
times sold pills and other preparations.
“Ah! it’s Monsieur Fourriette; I didn’t recognize you. So you are to act
in the next play, are you?”
“Yes, messieurs, I take the part of Détroussandos, the brigand; I am
rather well dressed, eh?”
“In other words, you are not dressed at all; your costume is exceedingly
indecent.”
“In what respect, pray? I have on tights----”
“Yes, but so tight one wouldn’t think you wore any.”
“So much the better; at all events, I have drawers----”
“Which don’t reach half way down your thighs.”
“Messieurs, I love accuracy in everything; this is the true costume of
the Italian brigand.”
“It is lucky that you are not to act in the Creation of the World; you
would be capable of representing Adam in the costume of that day.”
“Faith! it would be more exact.”
“I like to think that you will have a cloak at least.”
“Yes, I have one, but I shan’t put it on; I shall simply carry it on my
arm.”
“You evidently mean to make conquests.”
“Why not? I saw a little lady just now up in a tree--_fichtre!_
messieurs, such a pretty brunette! such a lovely bird!--Come, Monsieur
Miaulard, let’s rehearse our fight with swords. One, two, up; three,
four, down!”
“I say, messieurs, it isn’t certain that we shall give the play, after
all,” said Monsieur Mangeot, appearing in his hermit’s costume, with a
huge piece of cotton batting pasted to his chin, which imitated a white
beard to perfection.
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“What has happened?”
“Has some other actor fallen into the pond?”
“I insist upon it’s being emptied at once, so that we shan’t have any
more of that.”
“No, messieurs, it isn’t that, no one has fallen into the pond; only
Kingerie was capable of such a masterpiece as that; but Monsieur Glumeau
is complaining, and says that he doesn’t know if he will be able to
act.”
“Bah! what’s the matter with him now?”
“You probably noticed that when he was playing Pincette just now, he was
in delightfully high spirits at first, and did nothing but jump and
pirouette; he sang all his lines, standing on his toes; he was a regular
zephyr. But toward the end, as he attempted to pirouette from one end of
the stage to the other, although it isn’t very large, it seems that he
caught a stitch in his side; he must have twisted himself, or strained
some nerve, or perhaps much less than that; but you know Monsieur
Glumeau--he thinks he’s dying on the slightest provocation. Ever since
then he has been very anxious, he goes limping about, holding his side;
he wants to be rubbed every minute, and he’s afraid of inflammation.”
“Well, why don’t they give his part to Chambourdin?”
“Chambourdin! We can’t even count on him to play one of the robbers. He
is standing almost under the skirts of a lady who is seated on the
branch of a tree. Just now I called out to him: ‘Come and put on your
robber’s costume!’ and he answered: ‘I am here at madame’s orders, and
bayonets won’t make me leave.’”
“Sapristi! we must give the play all the same!” cried the druggist, who
was most anxious to exhibit himself in tights; “doesn’t monsieur feel
able to take the part impromptu?”
The druggist addressed this question to little Saint-Arthur. The young
dandy, always keenly desirous to produce a sensation, was attracted by
the suggestion and exclaimed:
“Do I wear a handsome costume?”
“You dress as you please.”
“Pardieu! in that case, I like the idea, and I accept; but, as I shan’t
have time to learn the part, I will act in pantomime.”
“An excellent idea,--as good as that of giving _La Dame Blanche_ without
music.”
“What do you mean, Saint-Arthur, are you really going to act?” asked
Jéricourt.
“Yes, yes; I have an idea of a costume that will leave Fourriette’s in
the shade! I am going to cover myself with leaves.”
But at that moment they heard young Miaulard shouting:
“Victory! here comes Monsieur Glumeau in his tyrant’s costume,
messieurs; that means that he will act.”
“See how he hobbles along and leans over on one side!”
“That won’t do any harm in his part; he will suggest Ligier in _Richard
the Third_, at a distance.”
Monsieur Glumeau came on the stage, saying in a most affecting manner:
“Ah! my friends, I don’t know whether I shall be able to play; this
infernal pain doesn’t leave me; it’s terrible!”
“It isn’t anything, Monsieur Glumeau--a strained muscle.”
“Or perhaps it’s only wind, a gust of wind that has lodged there.”
“Do you think so? Ten thousand bombs! if I only knew that!”
“I am not at all anxious to stand beside him!” muttered Miaulard,
walking away.
“Everybody’s ready,” said little Astianax, muffled up in a cuirass and
buckler and helmet, and brandishing a lance which was twice as long as
himself. “Where is my sister, where is Cunégonde?”
“Here I am!” cried Mademoiselle Eolinde, dressed as a Malabar widow. “I
have my p--p--part at the end of my f--f--fingers.”
“Let us begin then.”
“One moment!” said Monsieur Glumeau; “before we begin, I want to drink a
glass of anise water; someone has gone to fetch it for me.”
“What is going to happen, great heavens? what is going to happen?”
exclaimed Miaulard, walking still farther away from Monsieur Glumeau.
At last, in place of anise water, they brought Monsieur Glumeau some
anisette; he drank two small glasses of it and consented that the play
should begin. The signal was given. The amateur musicians executed a
polka which would pass very well for the overture to a melodrama. The
curtain rose, and applause burst forth on all sides; the audience was
delighted with the scenery; no curtain had been hung at the rear, and
the veritable forest, lighted here and there, produced a magical effect.
And then the odd costumes of the actors heightened the enthusiasm of the
audience. The hermit’s cotton beard, the chevalier’s helmet, the vizor
of which persisted in falling over young Astianax’s nose, the wooden
swords and daggers, everything, even to the dragging gait and foolish
expression of the tyrant, combined to enchant the spectators; but when
the young druggist appeared as Détroussandos, when he strode across the
stage with his tights surmounted by drawers, bursts of laughter arose in
every direction, and the little lady who was seated on the branch of a
tree was seized with such a paroxysm of hilarity that several times, as
she squirmed about, she almost fell; luckily Chambourdin was still in
his place, ready to restore equilibrium over his head.
The play proceeded amid general applause and hilarity, until the scene
between the child and the robbers who proposed to kill Roderic. The
gardener was said to be at his post; and in fact Master Pichet had not
forgotten that he was to take his son’s place; but instead of remaining
sober as he had been urged to do, the gardener had considered, on the
other hand, that in order to act with spirit, and to avoid any feeling
of timidity before the audience, it would not be a bad idea to get a
little tipsy; and what the peasant called getting a little tipsy, was
drinking so much that he could hardly stand on his legs. In that
condition Monsieur Pichet had gone upon the stage, and had hidden
himself behind the trees from which he was supposed to keep an eye upon
the robbers.
“Don’t forget your lines,” said Eolinde: “‘Oh! for heaven’s sake,
messieurs, don’t hurt papa!’”
“Oh! I know the lines! Don’t you be afraid, mamzelle, I don’t know
anything else!”
Meanwhile, the famous scene was reached; Détroussandos and two robbers
held their swords over Roderic’s head, and the child did not appear to
prevent them from striking.
“The child! the child! _sapredié!_ send on the child!” exclaimed
Astianax in an undertone.
“What on earth is that brute doing?” muttered Fourriette, still holding
his sword in the air; “is he going to leave us like this for long?”
The gardener did not appear, because when he was once seated behind the
trees, he had instantly fallen asleep; stout Dufournelle, who was
prompting and who heard him snore, ran to him and shook him roughly by
the arm, shouting:
“It’s your turn! it’s time for you to go on! wake up, corbleu!”
The gardener, waking with a start, rubbed his eyes, sprang to his feet,
ran on the stage, and threw himself into the midst of the robbers,
exclaiming:
“Ah! you villains! you loafers! you mean to beat our young master, do
you? Just wait a bit, and I’ll show all three of you something! You’ll
see how I do it!”
And with that, falling upon the druggist and the two young men dressed
as robbers, the gardener began to distribute fisticuffs and kicks which
were not included in the action of the play; the three actors, who did
not anticipate that attack, began to shout and yell, and ended by
returning the gardener the blows that they received; this combat, which
the audience supposed to be feigned, was greeted with unanimous
applause, and Monsieur Boutillon cried:
“Faith, I have often been to the theatre, but I must confess that I
never saw such a good imitation of a fist fight as this!”
XX
A SILENT INTERVIEW
Suddenly there was a cry of: “It’s raining, here comes the storm!” among
the spectators; instantly all the ladies, fearing for the welfare of
their dresses, rose in haste and ran toward the house. Madame Glumeau,
while regretting that they could not wait for the end of the play,
abandoned her place, saying to the ladies who were near her:
“Come, follow me; I will show you the shortest way, and we shall soon be
at the house.”
The general movement that took place among the spectators put an end to
the combat which was in progress on the stage. Monsieur Glumeau ordered
his gardener to go home to bed, and he suggested to the actors that they
should follow the example of the audience and return to the house. The
young druggist declared that the shower would not last, and that they
might finish the play; but no one listened to him, they all ran toward
the gate leading from the wood. Madame Boutillon said to Chambourdin:
“Help me down.”
“Drop,” replied the advocate.
The little brunette followed his injunctions so closely that for some
moments Chambourdin was unable to extricate his head, which was covered
by the lady’s skirts. But when his head reappeared, he had such a
triumphant expression that one would have thought that his hair had
grown. Like everybody else, in a moment he disappeared with Madame
Boutillon, and the little wood which a few minutes before rang with
shouts of laughter and the merry quips of a numerous company, would have
been entirely deserted, had not two persons remained without stirring in
the places that they occupied, apparently regardless of the storm and
not thinking of following the departing crowd.
Monsieur Malberg, who up to that time had avoided society and had not
accepted any invitations from his neighbors, had departed from his usual
habit in going to Monsieur Glumeau’s; but it will be remembered that he
was very anxious to meet Monsieur de Roncherolle, of whose return to
Paris he had been informed. The search made by Georget had led to no
result, and Monsieur Malberg had said to himself:
“If I want to find him, to meet him anywhere, I shall not succeed by
staying at home and avoiding society. Roncherolle used to love
dissipation and conviviality, so that I must seek him in society.”
The result of these reflections was his acceptance of his neighbor
Glumeau’s invitation. However, as he still found it difficult to lay
aside his habits, we have seen that, instead of mingling with the
guests, Monsieur Malberg had held himself a little aloof; but from his
position he could easily scrutinize the whole company, especially the
men, almost all of whom were standing behind the ladies; and he had
satisfied himself that the man whom he sought was not there.
Thereupon, his eyes had wandered in the direction of the ladies; he
could see only the backs of those who occupied the front rows of seats,
and Madame de Grangeville was one of them; so that he was looking,
without paying any particular attention to them, at the ladies of the
company, who, however, were very handsomely dressed, when one of them,
Madame de Grangeville, turned her head and looked in his direction.
Monsieur Malberg was struck by that glance; a thousand memories awoke in
his mind; but the lady turned her head away almost immediately, and he
could not see her features. Impelled by curiosity, however, to know that
person, a single glance from whom had so disturbed him, he had quietly
left his place and had drawn nearer to the stage, without, however,
mingling with the audience, until he was so placed that, without being
seen, he could at his leisure examine the lady who was seated beside
Madame Glumeau.
On scrutinizing the baroness closely, Monsieur Malberg had thought at
first that he had made a mistake; nineteen years had caused so many
changes! And all of us have a singular habit: if we are many years
without seeing a woman, when we think of that woman, we always imagine
her as she was when we saw her last. Instead of saying to ourselves:
“Time must have marched with her; her beauty and charm and freshness
must have undergone deplorable changes;” we always imagine that she is
as we left her, because her image, her figure, her bearing charmed us
so, and because the heart and the memory shrink from attributing age to
the objects whose souvenir they cherish.
And so, while gazing attentively at Madame de Grangeville, Monsieur
Malberg said to himself:
“No, I am mistaken, it isn’t she, it cannot be the woman whose grace,
whose fresh complexion and slender figure and light step everyone
admired; and yet, those are her features; despite the deep wrinkles at
the corners of her mouth, that is the lower part of her face; her eyes
are black-ringed and swollen, but the expression is still the same, and
it is that expression which has awakened all my memories. Her face is
thinner, her hair has changed its color; there are wrinkles on her brow;
and yet I cannot doubt it; it is she! yes, surely she! And, in truth,
over nineteen years have passed since I saw her; but I had not thought
that she could grow old!”
Monsieur Malberg could not remove his eyes from the baroness after that;
he abandoned himself the more freely to that mute contemplation,
because no one could observe it.
When the first drops of rain set the whole company in motion, Monsieur
Malberg did not stir from his place; he still continued his observation,
curious to see what the lady upon whom he kept his eyes fixed would do.
She had remained as if glued to her chair; she had heard Madame Glumeau
urge the guests to follow her, but she had paid no heed; having no fear
whatever of the storm which everybody else seemed to dread, she remained
in the woods, exposed to the rain; and when the whole company had fled
toward the house, she was still there, not daring to turn her head in
the direction in which she had seen her husband; for in Monsieur Malberg
she had instantly recognized the Comte de Brévanne, whom she had married
long before.
The part of the wood in which they were was still lighted by the lamps
on the stage and by the lanterns placed at intervals in the enclosure
reserved for the audience. But the rain had extinguished some of the
lights, the wind swung the lanterns to and fro so that the light that
remained was as uncertain as the weather, which, however, had not become
so bad as they had feared; the rain, which had fallen at first with
considerable violence, had already diminished, and the wind, which had
aroused such terror, seemed also to have abated.
“Why does she stay there alone? Why didn’t she follow all those people?
What is the reason that she remains exposed to the rain? She is in a
ball dress. Can she have seen me? No, I was standing aloof; and if she
had seen me, she would not have recognized me; time has passed for both
of us alike, and I had to examine her a long time to be certain that it
was she.”
Such were the reflections of the man whom we now know to be the Comte de
Brévanne, but whom we shall call Malberg more than once, because we have
become accustomed to it.
The count, however, was mistaken in thinking that his wife had not
recognized him; in the first place, ladies have a glance which carries
much farther than ours; and then time, which had wrought such changes in
her, seemed to have treated her husband with respect; in fact, as he had
very strongly-marked features, and a face which had always been serious,
even grave, he had seemed older than he really was when he might still
have been ranked with young men; and so time had aged him less, and
except for his hair, which had turned gray, and for some few deep
wrinkles on his forehead, he had changed very little. So that Madame de
Grangeville had recognized her husband in the person whom Madame Glumeau
had pointed out as Monsieur Malberg; a single glance had sufficed to
make her certain of the truth. Then she had sat a long while without
turning her head; she hoped that her husband did not see her, and yet
she was burning with the longing to know if he had seen her. As a woman
is not in the habit of resisting curiosity, she turned her head once
more in the direction where the count was; it was then that their eyes
met; in despair because she had shown herself, and having no doubt that
her husband had recognized her, Madame de Grangeville wished that she
were a hundred leagues away; and yet, when she sat trembling in her
chair and the other guests had left the wood, she was so perturbed that
she had not strength to walk, and she was utterly at a loss what course
to pursue.
Several minutes passed after all the others had gone. Nothing could be
heard in the woods except the patter of the raindrops on the leaves.
Madame de Grangeville gathered her shawl about her shoulders as if she
were cold; she dared not turn her head to see if she were alone, and yet
she said to herself:
“He must have gone away with the others; it isn’t probable that he has
remained here. Why should he? If he recognized me, as I think, he must
have been all the more eager to go. Oh, yes! I am very sure that he has
not gone to Monsieur Glumeau’s house. What a fool I am to tremble like
this! but I can’t help it; I had so little expectation of this meeting,
after so many years! It is strange! he has hardly changed at all; he
still has the same serious look; he is still--Ah!”
As she spoke thus to herself, she slowly turned her head, to make sure
that there was no one behind her, and she saw her husband standing
motionless against a tree, with his eyes still fixed upon her.
Thereupon she felt her blood run cold, she was almost terrified. And yet
there was nothing terrifying in the Comte de Brévanne’s eyes; they
expressed amazement rather than anger; but she upon whom they were
fixed instantly turned her own away, feeling that she had not courage to
endure their gaze.
“He is there, still there! he doesn’t take his eyes from me!” said
Madame de Grangeville to herself; not daring to move or to turn her
head. “Mon Dieu! what can be his purpose? It seemed to me that he was
glaring savagely at me!”
“She doesn’t dare to move; no doubt I frighten her!” said the count to
himself; “I will go away. I can understand that my presence is not
likely to produce a pleasant impression upon her. I must go; she is not
the one whom I sought here.--Great heaven! how she has changed!”
The count was preparing to go away, and had already taken several steps,
when he heard a dull sound, resembling a prolonged groan, apparently
very near the stage.
“Mon Dieu! what is that?” cried Madame de Grangeville.
The count stopped to listen; the same groan made itself heard again,
even more distinctly.
Madame de Grangeville, terror-stricken, uttered a shriek, left her
chair, and no longer fearing to look at her husband, turned her eyes in
all directions, exclaiming:
“Mon Dieu! in pity’s name, will no one come to help me?”
But her eyes sought in vain the Comte de Brévanne; he had disappeared
under the trees, uncertain as to what he ought to do, but desirous to
learn the cause of the strange noise he had heard.
At that moment, voices arose in the distance and came rapidly nearer.
Little Astianax, jovial Chambourdin, young Miaulard and Beau
Saint-Arthur were coming in search of the baroness; for when all the
guests had assembled in the salon, that lady’s absence had been noticed;
and as Madame Glumeau declared that she had been in the woods, her
failure to return caused apprehension that some accident had happened to
her, and that the little pond had done further execution.
The four gentlemen entered the wood, shouting with all their strength:
“Madame de Grangeville!”
“Madame la baronne!--Are you here?--Has anything happened to you?”
“Answer, please!”
“This way, messieurs, this way; yes, I am here!” the lady made haste to
reply, overjoyed by the arrival of the young men. “Come, come,
messieurs! come! mon Dieu! how opportunely you arrive!”
“But, madame, how does it happen that you remained alone in the wood?
You did not follow the crowd, the torrent----”
“No, messieurs, I didn’t follow the other ladies at first, because I had
lost my--my handkerchief; it is quite a fine one and I stopped to look
for it.”
“Oh! if we had known that, madame, we would have saved you the trouble.
Did you find it?”
“Yes, I have it; but then, as I was about to leave this spot, I had a
fright, I heard a noise that terrified me so that I was too weak to walk
when you arrived.”
“The deuce! what can it have been?”
“It isn’t probable that there are robbers in our wood,” said little
Astianax.
“It would be strange, at least, that they should have selected the day
when it was full of people to come here,” said Chambourdin.
“Unless,” said Miaulard, “they are robbers who are very fond of a play,
and who were unable to resist the desire to see the fine performance
going on here!”
“_Fichtre!_ if _I_ had acted!” muttered young Saint-Arthur.
“You are pleased to jest, messieurs, but I believe that I still hear the
noise which frightened me just now.--Yes, there it is; listen.”
The young men ceased to speak and did in fact hear the prolonged groan.
“Parbleu! we will find out what that is!” said Astianax, arming himself
with a chair.
The others did the same, except Saint-Arthur, who deemed it prudent to
return to the gate. Miaulard took down a lantern, and they went in the
direction from which the noise came; they speedily discovered the
gardener lying at the foot of a tree; he was asleep, but his sleep was
greatly disturbed, for he groaned and muttered:
“Ah! the villains! In pity’s name, don’t hurt papa!--Here, take that,
you!”
The young men returned to Madame de Grangeville, laughing heartily, and
told her what had caused her terror.
“It’s the actor who dealt blows in earnest,” said Chambourdin. “He is so
full of his subject, that even when sleeping off his wine, he fancies
that he is acting still.”
“Let us go back to the company and allay their anxiety,” said Astianax,
offering Madame de Grangeville his arm. “Come, madame; I trust that
nothing more will interrupt the pleasures of the night.”
“Faith,” said Chambourdin, “we are all in excellent mood to enjoy
ourselves, to dance. Even Monsieur Glumeau, who seemed not to feel well
when he was playing his tyrant’s rôle, is recovering all his agility and
high spirits; he no longer has a stitch in his side.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” muttered Miaulard; “the anisette has produced its
due effect.”
The young men returned to the house with the lady they had found in the
woods, and the Comte de Brévanne, who had been an invisible witness of
all that had happened, returned home, still saying to himself:
“How she has changed!”
XXI
ON THE BOULEVARD
Since Monsieur Malberg had gone to live at Nogent-sur-Marne, Georget,
having no errands to do for him, had plenty of time to see the pretty
flower girl and to talk to her; when she scolded him because he did not
work, the messenger would reply with a sigh: