certainly don’t refuse any, and although I am very happy with you, I
often regret that I don’t earn more money during the day--not for
myself, for I always have more than I need, but for my mother, whom I
would like to make more comfortable.”
Georget meant what he said, for when he saw his mother persist in
sitting up late, in robbing herself of sleep in order to earn a few sous
more, he thought of the happy life he might have provided for her, of
that life, free from hard labor and from care, which would have been
hers if he had accepted Monsieur Malberg’s offer; and that thought often
clouded his brow; as he gazed at the pretty flower girl, he sometimes
blamed himself for loving her, because he felt that that love had been
fatal to his love for his mother.
One morning, the young fellow waited in his usual place, looking in the
direction of Violette’s booth, from which she had been absent for some
time. Georget was more melancholy than usual; in the first place because
he could not see the object of all his thoughts, and secondly, because
he had earned nothing as yet that morning, and his mother had had a very
scanty supper the night before.
Soon he noticed a young man pacing back and forth in front of Violette’s
booth, and recognized in him the little fellow with the squint, whom he
knew to be one of the flower girl’s adorers. Monsieur Astianax was
sauntering along the boulevard, with an enormous cigar in his mouth,
which he was very proud to be smoking, and the smoke of which he seemed
to take pleasure in blowing into the faces of the ladies who passed; a
method of attracting attention which did not fail to be very agreeable.
Suddenly another young man, somewhat older, came toward little Glumeau;
they met and stopped just in front of Georget, who, seated upon his
stool, with his head in his hands, seemed to be asleep.
“Ah! it’s young Astianax Glumeau!”
“Good-morning, Monsieur Chambourdin; so you are not at the Palais?”
“At the Palais! Why should I be, if you please, young man?”
“Why, to plead; I thought that an advocate----”
“I am an advocate only in the _Gazette des Tribunaux_. I publish little
articles there which I invent for the pleasure of the subscribers. I
plead at my leisure, in my office, before my desk, and I am never
called to order; that is the way I understand the advocate’s profession.
But you, my beardless youth, how does it happen that you are not in the
country with papa and mamma? For I presume that your dear parents are
still there? In such lovely weather, it is good luck to be in the shade
and fresh air!”
“Yes, my parents are down at Nogent, and that is just the reason that
you find me strolling on the boulevard! Ha! ha! when the parents are in
the country I am my own master here; I do just what I choose!”
“Oh! I understand you, you young rascal; we have some little intrigues
on the carpet. You are right, it is never too early to begin to make
one’s way in the world. If I had a son, I would say to him: ‘Sow your
wild oats early; in that way, you will have less to sow later.’--What do
we need in order to be virtuous? experience; and to have experience, we
must have lived! How is that for logic? Doesn’t that smell of Cujas and
Barthole?--And dear papa is well, I trust? The stitch in the side hasn’t
come back?”
“No, but he has a constant itching on the sole of his foot just now.”
“Indeed! all he has to do is to scratch.”
“It isn’t very convenient to scratch the sole of your foot; you can’t do
it while you’re walking. You know my father--it makes him anxious, he’s
afraid that it’s some humor.”
“Well, that’s an idea! He has chilblains, that’s all.”
“I went to friend Fourriette, the druggist’s; he’s making something for
father to put on his feet.”
“An excellent way to bring on a disease where there isn’t any.--But no
matter, you gave us a delightful party! The play, although it wasn’t
finished--or perhaps because it wasn’t finished--was very amusing. And
the ball and the supper! _Fichtre!_ we did go it!”
“I say, what about that young lady that you perched on a branch; it
seemed to me that you were very attentive to her.”
“Madame Boutillon? Oh, yes!”
“It’s a pity that you fell when you were waltzing with her.”
“I did it on purpose; it’s a stratagem I invented, to make a woman
become attached to me!”
“Why? because you throw her down while waltzing?”
“To be sure; when she feels herself falling, she clutches me, she clings
to me, and squeezes me as tight as she can! Do you understand, young
man, what intimate relations that brings about between us?”
“To be sure, that’s true.”
“Just try it, my dear fellow; take my advice, ask a lady to waltz, then
fall with her; and tell me what you think of it.”
“Shall I fall underneath or on top?”
“Underneath is more polite; but on top is more rakish.”
“I will remember that; and at the first ball I go to, if I see a lady
who takes my eye, I will ask her to waltz.”
“The rest will go all alone!”
“And that method served with Madame Boutillon?”
“Don’t I tell you that it’s infallible?”
“And you call on that lady now?”
“To be sure; I play cards with her husband; we play Pope Joan; he’s very
fond of it.--And you, little Astianax--whom are you looking for on the
boulevard? are you expecting to meet some one?”
“Yes, I am expecting some one, who seems in no hurry to come.”
“You have an appointment on the boulevard, at the flower market? That is
very pleasant; you walk amid agreeable odors. Ladies often make their
appointments at the flower market.”
“No, I have no appointment; I came here because I am in love with a
little flower girl; and very pretty she is! Ah! she beats Madame
Boutillon, I tell you!”
“That is very possible! I never thought that Madame Boutillon could not
be beaten.--Where does your lovely flower girl stand?”
“Over yonder, opposite us--that booth where there is no one just now.
She has probably gone to carry a bouquet somewhere.”
“How goes your love-affair? have you triumphed?”
“I have not triumphed yet----”
“So your flower girl is a model of virtue, an untamed beauty, is she?”
“A model of virtue! Oh! I thought so for a long while. When I found how
cruel she was, I fancied that Violette--that is her name--I fancied
that Violette was virtuous; but I was mistaken; I was a blockhead; the
flower girl is not cruel with everybody, I have a proof of it. She does
her work on the sly!”
Georget, who had not lost a word of the conversation between the two
young men, sprang to his feet like a flash, and planting himself in
front of Astianax, said to him, glaring at him with eyes inflamed by
wrath:
“You lie! you insult Violette! just because she refuses to listen to
you! But you are nothing but a slanderer, do you hear?”
Little Glumeau was thunderstruck; he rolled his eyes about in all
directions, and utterly failed to understand that apostrophe which fell
from the clouds upon him; but Chambourdin, who was perfectly calm,
stepped between Astianax and Georget, and said to the latter:
“Why do you put your oar in, my boy? Who spoke to you? Why do you
presume to interfere in our conversation? Are you a spy, that you busy
yourself listening to us? The deuce! you are beginning that trade very
young!”
“That’s so,” said Astianax, beginning to recover from his surprise;
“what does this mean? whom is this little _voyou_, this blackguard,
talking to?”
“Oh! don’t insult me, monsieur, or I’ll punch your head; I am a
messenger, a respectable young man!”
“Once more,” retorted Chambourdin, “we don’t know you; why did you
listen to what monsieur was saying to me?”
“Why did you stop and talk right in front of me? I should have had to
stuff my ears to keep from hearing. Still, I didn’t pay much attention
to your words, until monsieur began to talk about Mademoiselle Violette
the flower girl; then I listened with all my ears, it is true, because
it interested me, because I know Mamzelle Violette, because I know that
she’s an honest girl, who doesn’t listen to what men say to her, when
they try to induce her to make a fool of herself; and you said that she
wasn’t cruel to everybody, that she wasn’t virtuous, that she wasn’t a
model of virtue! You lied, and I couldn’t listen to that without saying
something, for I should have been a coward if I had heard you insult
Violette without taking up her defence.”
“It seems that this is another lover of the flower girl,” said
Chambourdin, turning toward Astianax to laugh; but the latter had turned
as red as a rooster, and he said to Georget:
“I might send you to the devil; but I am willing to answer you. I didn’t
lie in what I said about the flower girl. No, I didn’t lie, I said
nothing that I’m not sure of. No, Mademoiselle Violette isn’t virtuous;
for girls who mean to remain virtuous aren’t in the habit of calling on
young men who live all alone.”
“Do you mean to say that Violette has been to your house?”
“No, not to mine! but to the rooms of a young man who lives on the same
landing that I do,--his door is just opposite mine.--I say, Monsieur
Chambourdin, it’s Monsieur Jéricourt the author, who came to our party
at Nogent with a friend of his, who was dressed so nicely----”
“That he looked like a tailor’s manikin.--Oh! I remember those two
gentlemen perfectly!”
Georget, who had turned pale at the mention of Jéricourt’s name, said to
Astianax:
“I too know the gentleman you speak of; I have seen him often enough
come here and play the gallant with Mamzelle Violette; but she has never
listened to him, and it was he who lied when he told you that she had
been to his room.”
“He didn’t need to tell me anything, because I saw,--do you
hear?--because I saw the pretty flower girl come out of his room.”
“No, no! you made a mistake; it wasn’t her, it couldn’t have been!”
“I couldn’t have made a mistake, for I know her perfectly well, and she
passed close to me.”
“It wasn’t her, I say.”
“Ah! this is too much! What if I should tell her so when she returns, in
your presence--then would you believe me, young messenger?”
“You would dare to tell her that--her?”
“Why should I hesitate, as it’s the truth?”
Georget seemed completely upset, he was pale and agitated, and did not
know what to think.
“Come, come, my poor boy,” said Chambourdin, “I see that you too are
daft over this flower girl, who is very fascinating, it seems; but
after all, perhaps it’s a great service that my young friend does you,
by opening your eyes with respect to this girl. You credit her with all
the virtues, because you are in love with her; that is easily
understood, you are so young! but that is a common thing; oh! these
women! they are very fragile! When five years more have passed over your
head, I should like to hear what you say about them.”
Georget said nothing more, but Astianax exclaimed:
“The flower girl has returned to her place, and I am going to talk with
her. Monsieur Chambourdin, come in that direction, as if by accident,
and bring this fellow who doesn’t choose to believe me; in a moment you
will know if I have said anything other than the truth.”
“I have no objection,” said Chambourdin; “indeed I ask nothing better
than to approach the flower girl; she is enchanting, and I believe that
I am falling in love with her too!”
Little Astianax walked for some distance among the booths and shrubs,
for it was flower market day on Boulevard Saint-Martin; then he
approached Violette with an indifferent air and began to look at her
flowers. The girl, recognizing the little man with the squint, acted as
if she did not see him and kept on making a bouquet.
“All these flowers are lovely! they are all as fresh as you are!” said
Astianax at last, vexed because the flower girl paid no attention to
him.
“Does monsieur want another bouquet that speaks?” said Violette with a
mischievous expression.
“No, mademoiselle; you see, I have found out that there is no need of
that to make myself understood; it is much better to say myself
what--what I have already said to you several times: that you are
maddeningly beautiful, and that I adore you!”
“Dear me! I assure you, monsieur, that it tires me to hear the same
thing over and over again.”
“Ah! it tires you, does it?” retorted the little man, assuming an
impertinent tone. “Indeed! that’s a great pity! But still I am not
inclined to stop. Why should I lose courage? You are not so unkind as
you choose to appear; as you have been sensible to the attentions of
others, why should you not become so to me?”
“I don’t know what you mean, monsieur, but once more I beg you not to
talk this way to me.”
“Ah! don’t pretend to be angry like this, my lovely flower girl; it
won’t go down with me again. Have you forgotten that I saw you coming
out of Monsieur Jéricourt, my neighbor’s? I live on his landing. Oh! you
were tremendously agitated, and well rumpled when you left his room.”
“Monsieur! what you say is outrageous!”
“Outrageous! Do you mean to say that I lie? Will you dare to say that it
isn’t so?”
Chambourdin and Georget, who were only a few steps away, had overheard
everything. The young messenger could no longer contain himself; he ran
forward and stood in front of Violette, pale and trembling, with blazing
eyes, and said to her in a broken voice:
“So it is true! so it is true, as you don’t deny it!”
The flower girl, greatly surprised at Georget’s sudden appearance in
front of her, was embarrassed for a moment, and stammered at last:
“Well! if it was so, is that any reason for speaking to me like this?”
“The question is decided!” muttered Chambourdin, addressing Georget;
“you see, my little innocent, that my friend did not lie!”
“Oh! it is frightful! I would never have believed it! And my mother, my
poor mother, whom I sacrificed for her! The good Lord is punishing me
for it.--Adieu, Mademoiselle Violette! I will never speak to you again!”
Having said this, Georget ran off like a mad man, and speedily
disappeared.
Violette looked after him, and tears gathered in her eyes; she turned to
young Astianax, and said to him simply:
“Are you quite satisfied with what you have done, monsieur?”
Astianax lowered one eye and raised the other, then took Chambourdin’s
arm, saying:
“Let us go.”
Chambourdin glanced once more at the girl, who tried to conceal her
tears with her flowers, and he said to his companion:
“She isn’t of the same style of beauty at all as Madame Boutillon, but
she pleases me greatly, none the less.”
XXII
A BOTTLE OF ABSINTHE
Georget ran home to his mother without stopping, without drawing breath;
he found her sewing, snatched her work from her hands, and threw it
aside, saying:
“Drop that, mamma, don’t work any more, don’t tire your eyes any more;
hereafter you will be able to enjoy yourself, to be happy, to walk about
all day long. Oh, yes; you are going to be very happy, I tell you! Pack
up your things quick, we’re going away.”
Honest Mère Brunoy gazed at her son in surprise, utterly unable to
understand what he said; but his wild manner, his excitement, frightened
her, and she exclaimed:
“What’s the matter with you, Georget? what has happened to you, my boy?
You’re not in your usual condition.”
“It’s joy, mother; yes, it’s pleasure, I tell you, good fortune; that
upsets a man a little, but I shall get used to it; I will make the best
of it and not think of her any more.”
“You will make the best of your good fortune! you won’t think of her any
more! I don’t understand at all! You talk of joy and of pleasure, and
you have tears in your eyes, and you are as pale as death! Do you know
that you don’t look at all like a person who brings good news?”
“You’re mistaken, mother, I am very happy; for I tell you again, you
won’t need to ruin your eyes any more, to wear yourself out working.”
“How is that, my dear?”
“Because Monsieur Malberg--you know, that gentleman on the third floor
who is so kind to us----”
“Yes, yes; well?”
“Well, we are going to his house in the country--both of us, mother,
both of us. Yes, I will go with you and settle down there; I won’t leave
you any more; I won’t come to Paris any more--never! never! oh! I have a
horror of Paris!”
“What’s that, my boy? Monsieur Malberg has offered you a place at his
country house, too?”
“Why, yes, to be sure; I am to look after the workmen, to take care of
his garden and plant it; there are eight acres of it--that’s a pretty
good-sized garden, eight acres! He told me that I should be at liberty
to arrange it all as I pleased; and you, mother, you will have charge of
the house, the linen, the furniture, the poultry yard; and he will give
us a thousand francs a year for it.”
“A thousand francs! Mon Dieu! why that is a fortune, my boy! It means
that our future is provided for; you will not be a messenger any more.
We won’t spend the thousand francs; we will save up money to buy you a
substitute when you are drafted! For that is what I am always thinking
about.--And was it only just now that that generous man offered to
employ you at his country house?”
“Just now--oh, no! It was a long time ago, mother. If you knew--but I
won’t keep it from you any more; you shall know what a bad son I have
been; but you will forgive me, when you know the cause. Mon Dieu! it was
too much for me!”
“You, a bad son, Georget; no, that is impossible; you do yourself an
injustice, my child!”
“No, for all this comfort that I offer you to-day, Monsieur Malberg
proposed to me some time ago, when I spoke to you about going to his
country house; it depended only on me to go there then with you, and I
did not tell you that, because then I could not make up my mind to leave
Paris; for--mon Dieu!--for I was in love--there! that is what I had at
the bottom of my heart, and did not dare to tell you!”
“Is it possible! you in love already! Why, you won’t be eighteen for two
months.”
“Still I have been in love a long time.”
“Poor boy! then that is the reason why some days you were so sad and
other days so gay! Lovers always go to extremes!--And it’s all over now,
is it?”
“Oh, yes! it’s all over, mother; I don’t propose to think of her any
more; I don’t propose to see her, either, for if I should see her, I
should treat her as she deserves; but that wouldn’t do any good, that
wouldn’t prevent--what has happened. You see, mother, I believed that
she was so virtuous, I would have gone into the fire for her, and she
deceived me.”
“Did she tell you that she loved you, my boy?”
“She didn’t tell me so, except with her eyes,--at least it seemed to me
that I could read it there. But I deceived myself, no doubt! However,
let us not talk any more about her, mother, let us not talk any more
about her. Pack up your things, take only what you need for a little
while, and later I will come back and fetch the rest; the most important
thing now is to go.”
“But, my boy, our furniture, and these lodgings--we haven’t given
notice.”
“Don’t worry about all that, we will give it later. While you are
getting ready, I will go and ask Baudoin, the concierge, if Monsieur
Malberg is at his country house now.”
Georget left his mother and ran quickly down to the concierge. Baudoin
was keeping the lodge, for his wife had drunk so much the night before
that she had been taken ill, and was not in condition to leave her bed.
“Monsieur Baudoin, could you tell me if Monsieur Malberg is at his house
at Nogent now, or if he is living here?” Georget asked as he entered the
concierge’s lodge. That functionary, who was in very ill humor at being
obliged to serve as his wife’s nurse, swore like several carters and
said as he poured water into a cup:
“Herb tea! I think I see myself making her herb tea, the miserable
drunkard! Water is what she needs, to put out the fire that she keeps
kindled in her insides!”
“Will you answer me, please, Monsieur Baudoin?”
“Ah! Monsieur Georget, you see a man sorely vexed, sorely humiliated by
his social position. My wife is my shame, I am not afraid to say so; she
behaves like the lowest of the low! Just fancy, monsieur, that one of
the chief clerks in my department--you know that I am employed in a
department?”
“Yes, you are an office boy.”
“Boy! good God! I wish I was a boy! But it’s true that they call us
office boys although we are married; and the day before yesterday one of
my superiors, who is satisfied with my intelligence, made me a present
of a bottle of absinthe,--as an extra--genuine Swiss absinthe, a liqueur
that I am very fond of. So I came home with my bottle, but I took pains
to tear off the label, and to say to Hildegarde, whose vicious tastes I
know too well: ‘Don’t touch this bottle, don’t think of tasting what
there is in it; it’s Chinese opium, and it would put you to sleep right
away; but you’d never wake up.’--‘All right, that’s enough,’ said
Hildegarde; ‘but I don’t see why you take it into your head to bring
poison here.’ At that I says to her: ‘If I choose to do it, it’s none of
your business, as I’m the master.’ Then she made some impertinent
remark, I administered a healthy punishment, and we went to bed on it.
Yesterday morning I started for my office as usual; I was delighted with
my trick, and I said to myself that my absinthe was in no danger. Well,
monsieur, I returned at night and what did I find? My bottle empty, no
absinthe--Hildegarde had drunk it all, all, monsieur, and hadn’t left
me a drop! That is what I can never forgive--I didn’t have a taste of it
myself! As for my wife, you can judge what a state she was in, and when
I undertook to reprove her, if she didn’t have the cheek to answer:
‘It’s your fault, you villain, I poisoned myself on purpose; I wanted to
get away from your hard treatment; but you lied--your poison doesn’t put
a body to sleep, and it ain’t bad at all, and if there was any more, I’d
take another drink.’
“That, Monsieur Georget, is what the wretched creature dared to say to
me; and to-day she is on her back, she can’t move, and I like to think
that she’ll never get over it!”
“Oh! that’s a wicked thing to say, Monsieur Baudoin--to wish for your
wife’s death!”
“It’s for her good, as she will not mend her ways.”
“But I beg you, tell me if Monsieur Malberg is at his country house or
in Paris now?”
“Monsieur Malberg--why, I don’t know myself; but wait, he must be in
Paris, for I saw his blackamoor going upstairs just now; indeed I
believe he was carrying a bottle in a wooden case--you know the kind of
bottle I mean; what there is inside must be fine!”
Georget lowered his head sadly, saying to himself:
“If Monsieur Malberg is in Paris now, we can’t go to his country house
without his permission, without finding out whether he still wants us;
but I would have liked to start to-day, for if I stay in Paris I can’t
do otherwise than go out on the boulevard.”
“I say, Monsieur Georget,” continued the concierge, “if you want, I’ll
go up to Monsieur Malberg’s and I’ll ask his yellow negro if his master
is here.”
“Oh! if you would have that kindness, Monsieur Baudoin, I should be very
much obliged to you!”
“With pleasure. I am not sorry to leave the lodge for a minute. If that
creature asks for drink, give her water; she don’t like water and it’s a
punishment for her.”
Baudoin went up to the third floor, and Georget remained in the lodge,
absorbed, not in his thoughts, but in a single thought; for it was
impossible for him to think of anything else than Violette’s going to
Monsieur Jéricourt’s room. The concierge was absent a long time, but at
last he came downstairs again, swearing as usual. “Ten thousand cursed
names! how can a man take such animals as that into his service? They
are brutes, and nothing else!”
“Well, Monsieur Baudoin, is Monsieur Malberg in Paris?”
“Just imagine, Monsieur Georget; I rang the bell upstairs,--I was very
sure that there was someone there; however, it was a long while before
anybody opened the door; I rang again and the black fellow appeared at
last. ‘Is your master here just now?’ I asked him. That vagabond of a
Ponceau began to laugh and showed all his teeth--I must admit that all
colored men have extremely white teeth; probably it’s the white that
their skin lacks. I asked my question again, and the slave answered,
shaking his head violently: ‘No, no, no, master not here! Me here with
Broubrou, Babo, and Zima; me come to fetch Zima!’--As I didn’t
understand what he meant with his Broubrou and his Babo, I said to him:
‘But I didn’t come to ask for you.’--With that he made a face at me and
left me there, and went back into the salon. But I heard him talking and
jabbering; you would have sworn that there were two people disputing.
That is what makes me think that the negro lied when he said that his
master wasn’t in, for it couldn’t be anybody else that I heard him
talking to.”