I cannot tell why it was that I imagined I had seen that cra_Frédérique, vol. 1

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A GENTLEMEN'S DINNER AT DEFFIEUX'S

"Now, then, messieurs, as one should never be ungrateful, as one should

bestow at least a single thought on those who have made one happy, I

drink to my mistresses, messieurs, to whom I bid a last farewell

to-day!"

NOVELS

Paul de Kock

VOLUME V

FREDERIQUE

VOL. I

PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH

[Illustration: colophon]

GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS

THE JEFFERSON PRESS

BOSTON NEW YORK

_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._

FREDERIQUE

I--A GENTLEMEN'S DINNER AT DEFFIEUX'S

II--THE CHAPTER OF CONFIDENCES.--THREE SOUS

III--BLIND-MAN'S-BUFF.--AT THE WINDOWS.--IN A BALLOON

IV--THE LOST KEY

V--FILLETTES, GRISETTES, AND LORETTES

VI--MONSIEUR FOUVENARD'S BONNE FORTUNE.--THE GINGERBREAD WOMAN

VII--MADEMOISELLE MIGNONNE

VIII--AN EXPEDIENT

IX--THE WEDDING PARTY IN THE FRONT ROOMS

X--A PINCH OF SNUFF.--A FAMILY TABLEAU

XI--MADAME FREDERIQUE

XII--THE WEDDING PARTY IN THE REAR ROOM

XIII--THE BRIDE AND GROOM AND THEIR KINSFOLK

XIV--A YOUNG DANDY.--A DELIGHTFUL HUSBAND

XV--A VAGABOND

XVI--MADAME LANDERNOY

XVII--MADAME SORDEVILLE AND HER RECEPTION

XVIII--BARON VON BRUNZBRACK

XIX--THE LITTLE SUPPER PARTY

XX--BETWEEN THE PIPE AND THE CHAMPAGNE

XXI--CONFIDENCES

XXII--MONSIEUR DAUBERNY

XXIII--A MOMENT OF FORGETFULNESS

XXIV--COQUETRY AND BACCARAT.--A FIASCO

XXV--A YOUNG MOTHER

XXVI--THE SQUIRREL

XXVII--A CONSULTATION

XXVIII--A WORD OF ADVICE.--AN ASSIGNATION

XXIX--AN ENCOUNTER ON THE CHAMPS-ELYSEES

XXX--CONFIDENCE IS OF SLOW GROWTH

XXXI--DISAPPOINTED HOPES

XXXII--A REVELATION

A GENTLEMEN'S DINNER AT DEFFIEUX'S

"A lady said to me one day:

"'Monsieur Rochebrune, would it be possible for you to love two women at

once?'

"'I give you my word, madame,' I answered, frankly, 'that I could love

half a dozen, and perhaps more; for it has often happened that I have

loved more than two at the same time.'

"My reply called forth, on the part of the lady in question, a gesture

in which there was something very like indignation, and she said, in a

decidedly sarcastic tone:

"'For my part, monsieur, I assure you that I would not be content with a

sixth of the heart of a man whom I had distinguished by my favor; and if

I were foolish enough to feel the slightest inclination for him, I

should very soon be cured of it when I saw that his love was such a

commonplace sentiment.'

"Well, messieurs, you would never believe how much injury my frankness

did me, not only with that lady--I had no designs upon her, although she

was young and pretty; but in society, in the houses which she frequents,

and at which I myself visit, she repeated what I had said to her; and

many ladies, to whom I would gladly have paid court, received me so

coldly at the first compliment that I saw very plainly that they had an

unfavorable opinion of me--all because, instead of being a hypocrite and

dissembler, I said plainly what I thought. I tell you, messieurs, it's a

great mistake to say what you think, in society. I have repented more

than once of having given vent to those outpourings of the heart which

we should confide only to those who know us well enough to judge us

fairly; but, as society is always disposed to believe in evil rather

than in good, if we have a failing, it is magnified into a vice; if we

confess to a foible, we are supposed to have dangerous passions.

Therefore, it is much better to lie; and yet, it seems to me, that, if I

were a woman, I should prefer a lover who frankly confessed his

infidelities, to one who tried to deceive me."

"If I were a woman, I should prefer a man who loved nobody but me, and

would be faithful to me."

"Oh! parbleu! what an idea! It isn't certain, by any means, that all

women would prefer such a man. There are faithful lovers who are so

tiresome!"

"And inconstant ones who are so attractive!"

"I go even further, myself, and maintain that the very fact that a man

is faithful more than a little while makes him a terrible bore. He

drives his mistress mad with his sighs, his protestations of love; he

caresses her too much; he thinks of nothing but kissing her. There's

nothing that women get so tired of as of being kissed."

"Oho! do you think so, my little Balloquet? That simply proves that

you're a bad kisser, or that you're not popular. On the contrary, women

adore caressing men; I know what I'm talking about."

"Oh! what a conceited creature this Fouvenard is! Think of it,

messieurs! he would make us believe that the women adore him!"

"Well! why not?"

"Your nose is too much turned up; women like Roman noses. You can never

look sentimental with a nose like a trumpet."

"So you think that a man must have a languorous, melancholy air, in

order to make conquests, do you? Balloquet, you make me tired!"

"I'll give you points at that game whenever you choose, Fouvenard. We

will take these gentlemen for judges. Tell the waiter to bring up six

women,--of any condition and from any quarter, I don't care what

one,--and we'll see which of us two they will prefer. What do you say?"

Young Balloquet's proposal aroused general laughter, and a gentleman who

sat beside me observed to me:

"It might well be that the ladies wouldn't have anything to say to

either of them. What do you think?"

"I think that any ladies who would consent to grace our dessert, at the

behest of a waiter, would do it only on one condition; and men don't

make a conquest of such women, as they give themselves to everybody."

"Parbleu! messieurs, it is very amiable of us to listen to this

discussion between Fouvenard and Balloquet as to which of them a woman

would think the uglier; for my part, I prefer to demand an explanation

of what Rochebrune said just now. He talked a long while, and I've no

doubt he said some very nice things; but as I didn't quite understand

him, I request an explanation of the picture, or the key to the riddle,

if there is one."

"Yes, yes, the key; for I didn't understand him, either."

"Well, I did; I followed his reasoning: he says that a man can love a

dozen women at once."

"A dozen! why not thirty-six? What Turks you are, messieurs! Rochebrune

didn't say that."

"Yes, I did. Isn't it true?"

"Messieurs, I desire the floor."

"You may talk in a minute, Montricourt--after Rochebrune."

"A toast first of all, messieurs!"

"Oh! of course! When the host proposes a toast, we should be boors if we

refused to honor it.--Fill the cups, waiter!"

"This is very pretty, drinking champagne from cups; it recalls the

banquets of antiquity--those famous feasts that Lucullus gave in the

hall of Apollo, or of Mars."

"Yes! those old bucks knew how to dine; every one of his suppers cost

Lucullus about thirty-nine thousand francs in our money."

"Bah! don't talk to me about your Romans, my dear fellow; I shall never

take those people for models. They spent a lot of money for one repast,

but that doesn't prove that they knew how to eat. In the first place,

they lay on beds at the table! As if one could eat comfortably lying

down! It's like eating on the grass, which is as unpleasant as can be;

nobody likes eating on the grass but lovers, and they are thinking of

something besides eating. As for your cups, they're pretty to look at, I

agree, but they're less convenient for drinking than glasses, and the

champagne doesn't foam so much in a cup; and then, you don't have the

pleasure of making it foam all over again by striking your glass."

"Say what you will, Monsieur Rouffignard, the Romans knew how to live."

"Because they wore wreaths of roses at their meals, perhaps?"

"Well, it isn't so very unpleasant to have flowers on your head."

"Oh! don't talk to me, Monsieur Dumouton; let's all try wearing a wreath

of roses, and you'll see what we look like--genuine buffoons, paraders,

and nothing else!"

"Simply because our dress isn't suited to it, monsieur; our style of

dress is very disobliging, it isn't suited to anything; with the tunic

and cloak falling in graceful folds, the wreath on the head was not

absurd. And the slaves who served the ambrosia--in _tableau vivant_

costumes--weren't they attractive to the eye?"

"Oh, yes! slaves of both sexes! That was refined, and no mistake. I tell

you that your Romans were infernal debauchees; they put up with--aye,

cultivated all the vices! Why, monsieur, what do you say to the Senators

who had the effrontery to propose a decree that Caesar, then fifty-seven

years of age, should possess all the women he desired?"

"'Ah! le joli droit! ah! le joli droit du seigneur!'"

"I would like right well to know if he made use of that right."

"_Fichtre!_ he must have been a very great man!"

"Don't you know what used to be said of him: that he was the husband of

all the women?"

"Yes, and we know the rest."

"I say, you, over there! Haven't you nearly finished talking about your

Romans?"

"What about our host's toast?--Come, Dupreval, we're waiting; the guns

are loaded, the matches lighted."

"Silence at the end of the table! Dupreval is going to speak! Great God!

what chatterers those fellows are!"

"It's not we, messieurs, that you hear; it's the music. Hark, listen!

they're dancing; there are wedding parties all about us--two or three at

least."

"What is there surprising in that? Aren't there always wedding feasts

going on at Deffieux's?"

"For my part, if I kept a restaurant, and had such a class of patrons, I

would take for my sign: the _Maid of Orleans_."

"Oh! that would be very injudicious: many brides would refuse to have

their wedding feasts at your place."

"Hush! Dupreval is getting up; he's going to speak."

"As you know, messieurs, this is my last dinner party as a bachelor, for

I am to be married in a fortnight. Before settling down, before becoming

transformed into a sedate and virtuous mortal, I determined to get you

all together; I wanted to enjoy once more with you a few of those

moments of freedom and folly which have--a little too often,

perhaps--marked my bachelor days with a white stone. Now, then,

messieurs, as one should never be ungrateful, as one should bestow at

least a single thought on those who have made one happy, I drink to my

mistresses, messieurs, to whom I bid a last farewell to-day!"

"Here's to Dupreval's mistresses!"

"And to our own, messieurs!"

"To the ladies in general, and to the one I love in particular!"

"To their shapely legs and little feet!"

"To their blue eyes and fair hair!"

"I prefer brunettes!"

"To their graceful figures!"

"To the Hottentot Venus!"

"To the destruction of corns on the feet!"

"Oh! of course, Balloquet has to make one of his foolish remarks!"

"Messieurs, pardon me for interrupting you, but, in proposing a toast

to my mistresses, pray don't think that I mean to imply that I have

several. I am no such rake as Rochebrune is, in that respect; one at a

time is enough for me. I intended simply to address a parting thought to

those I have had during the whole of my bachelor life. That point being

settled, I now yield the floor to our friend, who, I believe, was about

to reply to the questions that had been put to him, when I proposed my

toast."

Thereupon the whole company turned their eyes toward me, for, I fancy,

you understand that I am Rochebrune. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea

for me to tell you at once what I was doing and in whose company I was

at that moment, at Deffieux's. Indeed, there are people who would have

begun with that, before introducing you to a dinner party at which the

guests are still unknown to you; but I like to turn aside from the

travelled roads--not from a desire to be original, but from taste.

What am I? Oh! not much of anything! For, after all, what does a man

amount to who has not great renown, great talent, an illustrious

reputation, or an immense fortune? A clown, a Liliputian, an atom lost

in the crowd. But you will tell me that the world is made up in larger

part of atoms than of giants, and that the main thing is not so much to

fill a large space as to fill worthily such space as one does fill.

Unluckily, I was not wise enough for that. Having come into possession

of a neat little fortune rather early in life,--about fifteen thousand

francs a year,--but having neither father nor mother to guide and advise

me, I was left my own master rather too soon, I fancy; for while the

reason matures quickly in adversity, the contrary is ordinarily true in

the bosom of opulence.

You see some mere boys, who are compelled to work in order to support

their families, exhibit the intelligence and courage of a full-grown

man. But place those same youths in the lap of Fortune, and they will do

all the foolish things that come into their heads. Why? Because, no

doubt, it is natural to love pleasure; and when we are prudent and

virtuous, it is very rarely due to our own volition, but rather to

circumstances, and, above all, to adversity. Which proves that adversity

has its good side. But, with your permission, we will return to myself.

My name is Charles Rochebrune. I am no longer young, having passed my

thirtieth birthday. How time flies! it is shocking! to be thirty years

old and no further advanced than I am! Indeed, instead of advancing, I

believe that I have fallen back. At twenty I had fifteen thousand francs

a year, and now I have but eight. If I go on like this, in a few years

more I shall have nothing at all. But have I not acquired some

experience, some talent, in return for my money? No experience, I fancy,

as I constantly fall into the same errors I used to be guilty of years

ago. And talent?--very little, I assure you! because I attempted to

acquire all the talents, and could never make up my mind to rely on a

single one. I had a vocation for the arts; the result was that I tried

them all, and know a little something of each one; which means that I

know nothing at all of any value. Painter, sculptor, musician, poet, in

turn, I have grazed the surface of them all, but gone to the root of

none. Ah! lamentable fickleness of taste, of character! No sooner had I

studied a certain thing a little while, than the fatal tendency to

change, which is my second nature, caused me to turn my ambition toward

some other object. I would say to myself: "I have made a mistake; it is

not painting that electrifies me, that sets my soul on fire, but

music."--And I would lay aside my brushes, to bang on a piano; and when

I had made it shriek for an hour, I would imagine that I was a composer

and could safely be employed to write an opera.

There is but one sentiment which has never varied, in my case, and that

is my love for the ladies; and yet they say that in my relations with

them I have retained my fondness for changing. But if one loves flowers,

must one pluck only a single one? I love bouquets _a la jardiniere_.

And, after all, who can say that I would not have been constant if I had

found a woman who loved me dearly, and who continued to love me, no

matter what happened? This last phrase means many things, which the

ladies will readily understand. But I have one very great failing as to

them. I will not confide it to you yet; you will discover it soon

enough, as you become better acquainted with me.

I said a moment ago that my parents--that is to say, my father--left me

some property. My mother had had two husbands, and I was the son of her

second marriage. As she had nothing when she married my father, it is to

him that I am indebted for the fortune which I have employed so ill

hitherto.

But, after all, have I employed it so ill, if I have been happy? Ah! the

fact is that I am not at all certain that I have been really happy in

this life of dissipation, folly, incessant change, regrets, and hopes so

often disappointed. I determined to settle down, to do what is called

making an end of things, which means marrying; albeit marriage is not

always the end of our follies, and is often the beginning of our

troubles. I loved my fiancee; I was not madly in love with her, but I

liked her, and I thought that she was fond of me. An unforeseen

occurrence broke off my projected marriage, and since then I have

entirely renounced all such ideas, because a similar occurrence might

have a similar result. What was it? Ah! that is my secret; I am not as

yet intimate enough with you to tell you everything.

I seem to have been talking a long while about myself; you must be sadly

bored. I propose now to make you acquainted with most of the gentlemen

who were my table companions at Deffieux's; I say "most of them," for

there were fifteen of us, and I did not know them all.

Let us begin with the host, Dupreval, who was giving the dinner, as he

told us, to commemorate his final adieu to his bachelorhood.

Dupreval is a solicitor; an excellent fellow, neither handsome nor ugly,

but a financier, a man of figures and calculations; he is entering into

marriage as one enters into any large commercial speculation. He will

certainly keep his word and abandon the follies of a bachelor, or I

shall be very much astonished; he is a man who will make his way in the

world; he has a goal--wealth; and he marches constantly toward it, never

turning aside from the path.

I admire such men, unbending in their determination, and incapable of

being turned aside from the line of conduct they have marked out for

themselves; I admire them, but I shall never imitate them. Chance is

such a fascinating thing, and it is such good fun to trust to it!

Next to Dupreval sat a stout young man, of medium height, but heavily

built, high-colored, with the bloom and brilliancy of the peach ever on

his cheeks. Unluckily, that never-failing freshness of complexion was

his only beauty, if, indeed, such pronounced coloring is a beauty. His

face beamed with good humor and denoted a leader in merrymaking; his

mouth was a considerable gulf, and his eyes were infinitesimal; but, by

way of compensation for occupying so little space, they were constantly

in motion and very bright, their expression being decidedly bold when

they rested upon the fair sex. His head was covered with a forest of

flaxen hair. Such was Monsieur Balloquet, medical student; indeed, I

believe he was a full-fledged doctor; but he had little practice, or,

rather, none at all; he thought only of enjoying himself, like many

doctors of his age. However, I do not mean to speak ill of Balloquet;

for he was a very good fellow, and we were good friends.

Next to him was a young man of medium height, very thin, and with a very

yellow complexion. An enormous beard, moustache, and whiskers covered so

much of his face that one could see little more than his nose, which was

long and thin, and his eyes, which were sunken and overshadowed by

eyebrows that threatened to spread like his beard. This gentleman had an

air of excessive weariness; that was all that one could make out beneath

the chestnut shrubbery that had overgrown his face. His name was

Fouvenard. I believe that he was in trade; but his business, whatever it

was, seemed to have worn him out. But that fact did not prevent him from

talking all the time of his past conquests and his present love affairs.

At my left was a rotund old party, with an amiable expression, and a

full-blown, rubicund face. It was Monsieur Rouffignard, auctioneer, who

was no longer young, but held his own manfully with the young men. He

did not lag behind at table; indeed, I have an idea that he did not lag

behind anywhere.

The next beyond was a very good-looking young man named Montricourt. He

had rather a self-sufficient air, and, if you did not know him well, you

might have called him conceited; but on talking with him, you found him

much more agreeable than his pretentious costume would lead you to

suppose.

Next came a man of thirty-six to forty years of age, rather ugly than

handsome, with a round face, smooth hair, a shifty eye, and an equivocal

smile, who spoke very slowly, and always seemed to reflect upon what he

was going to say. His tone was honeyed, and his manners excessively

polite. He was a clerk at the Treasury, by name Monsieur Faisande. When

someone, at the beginning of the dinner, said a few words that were a

trifle free in tone, I noticed that he frowned, as a lady might have

done who had strayed among us by mistake. After drinking five or six

different kinds of wine, he pursed his lips less; but at every loose

word that escaped us,--and such things are inevitable at a men's dinner

which has no diplomatic object,--Monsieur Faisande exclaimed:

"Hum! hum! Oh! messieurs, that's a little too bad! you go too far!"

"I may be mistaken," I thought; "but I would stake my head that Monsieur

Faisande is a hypocrite. That offended modesty is, to say the least, out

of place, and almost discourteous toward the rest of us; for it seems a

criticism of our conversation. In heaven's name, did the man think that

if he came to dinner with a party of men, most of them young, and all

high livers, he would hear no broad talk? There can be nothing so

insufferable at a party as one of those people who seem determined to

benumb your gayety by their sullen looks and their stiff manners. When

such a person does appear in a merry company, he should be courteously

turned out of doors."

What would you say of a doctor who should keep crying out during a

dinner:

"Don't eat so much; you'll make yourself ill; don't take any of this,

it's indigestible; don't drink any of that wine, it's too strong!"

No, indeed; at table the doctor disappears, or allows you to eat and

drink anything; nobody can be more accommodating, even with his

patients. And if doctors are so indulgent to the caprices of the

stomach, by what right does a pedant or a hypocrite undertake to put my

mind on a strict diet, and reprove the freedom of my conversation? There

is an old proverb that says: "We must laugh with the fools;" or, if you

please: "We must howl with the wolves."--Whence I conclude that it is,

to say the least, in bad taste to appear shocked by a loose word or a

vulgar jest, in such a company; and this Monsieur Faisande's virtue

seemed to be all the more doubtful because of his behavior.

In my review of the guests I must not forget Monsieur Dumouton, although

I only knew him then from having been once or twice in his company. He

was an individual who did not seem to be universally popular. Not that

he had an unattractive physique; on the contrary, he was a tall, slender

man, rather well than ill looking; his face was amiable, his strongly

marked features did not lack character; his bright, black eyes and high

color seemed to indicate a native of the _Midi_, although there was no

trace of such origin in his speech. But poor Monsieur Dumouton was

always dressed in such strange fashion, that it was difficult, on

glancing at his costume, to avoid forming a melancholy opinion of his

resources.

Imagine a threadbare coat, once green, but beginning to turn yellow, and

made after the style of a dozen years before--that is to say, very

short in front; in truth, it was also short in the skirts, which were

very scant, and hardly hid the seat of his trousers, which were olive

green and only just reached to his ankles, and fitted as close about the

thigh and knee as a rope dancer's tights. His boots were always innocent

of blacking, but, by way of compensation, were often coated with mud.

Add to all this a plaid waistcoat, double-breasted, and buttoned to the

chin; a black cravat, twisted into a rope; no shirt, collar, or gloves;

and a beard that was usually of about three days' growth: such was

Monsieur Dumouton's ordinary costume.

You will assume, perhaps, that he had donned other clothes to dine with

us; if so, you would make a mistake: it seemed that he was not fond of

change. Perhaps he had his reasons for that. However, he had made some

slight ameliorations: he had a false collar, and a white muslin cravat,

the ends of which were tied in a large knot that stood out conspicuously

against the soiled background formed by the coat and waistcoat.

I cannot tell why it was that I imagined I had seen that cravat playing

the part of draw-curtain at a window; it was an unkind thought, I

confess, and I did my utmost to discard it; but, as you must know, evil

thoughts are more persistent than good ones; and whenever my eyes fell

on the ends of that enormous cravat, it seemed to me that I was sitting

by a window.

I must tell you now who this gentleman was who dressed so ill. You will

be greatly surprised to learn that he was an author--yes, a "truly

author," as the children say; a man who wrote his plays

himself,--especially as he had not the wherewithal to buy any,--and

plays which were often very pretty, and which had been acted, and were

being acted still, with success.

But, you will tell me, we have passed the time when men of letters,

dramatic authors, earned barely enough to keep them alive; to-day, the

stage sometimes leads to wealth even; but it does not follow by any

means that all the nurslings of the Muses are destined to acquire

wealth. One may be unfortunate, dissipated, reckless; and once in the

mire, it is hard to extricate one's self therefrom, unless one has a

firm, immovable determination, unbounded courage, and a still greater

capacity for work; and everybody has not these. I cannot say what had

been the trouble with Monsieur Dumouton, what reverses he had had; I did

not know just how he was placed at that time; but, judging from his

costume, it was impossible to escape the supposition that he had known

adversity. Moreover, a few words that Dupreval let fall concerning this

man of letters recurred to my memory. He always said, when Dumouton was

mentioned:

"Poor fellow! he has all he can do to keep body and soul together! He

has plenty of intelligence, too; but he's such a careless devil!"

Whence I concluded that Dumouton was a penniless author; I do not say,

a worthless author. However, I was delighted to be in his company; for

he was jovial, clever, and entirely free from conceit; so what did I

care for his threadbare coat? I saw around the table several handsomely

dressed men, who amounted to nothing under their fine clothes.

I have introduced you now to all of my companions who were not strangers

to me; as for the others--why, if they say anything that makes it worth

our while to listen to them, we shall not fail to hear it.

THE CHAPTER OF CONFIDENCES.--THREE SOUS

I have told you that all eyes were fixed on me, and that everybody was

waiting to hear what I might have to say in justification or explanation

of what I had advanced on the subject of men who love several women at

once. For my part, I admit that, far from thinking about what reply I

should make to those gentlemen, I was busily engaged in watching

Dumouton, who was stowing away the contents of all the dessert plates

within his reach, although he was not eating. When he could find nothing

else on the plates that were near him, he attacked one of those

pasteboard structures, usually covered with candies or small cakes,

which no one ever touches, because they are intended simply as

decorations for the table, and one of them often does duty for several

months. I saw one of the waiters glare at him furiously when he saw what

he was doing, and I said to myself:

"I wonder if that poor Dumouton is in the same position as Frederick

Lemaitre in _Le Joueur_, when he stuffs bread into his pocket, saying:

'For my family!'"

"Well, Rochebrune! are you going to speak to-day?" said Dupreval.

"What do you mean?"

"What you were going to tell us."

"Oh! I beg your pardon, messieurs! You see, the wine we have drunk has

confused my memory, and I should find it hard to recall what I said to

you just now. And, to tell you the truth, instead of making speeches

about the best way of loving, which never prove anything, because every

man loves in his own way, which is the best to his mind, it seems to me

that it would be much more amusing for each of us to tell about one of

his _bonnes fortunes_, old or new, according to his pleasure.--What do

you say, messieurs?"

My suggestion was welcomed by enthusiastic plaudits; only Monsieur

Faisande made a wry face, and muttered:

"The deuce, messieurs, tell one of our _bonnes fortunes_! Why, that's a

very delicate subject. I didn't suppose that such things were talked

about, as a general rule. Discretion, messieurs, is the duty of an

honorable man, and, above all, of a lady's man."

"Oh! bless my soul, Monsieur Faisande, if you don't mention any names,

there's no indiscretion; and, as we are entitled to go back to ancient

history, how in the devil are you going to recognize the characters?"

"This Monsieur Faisande is very austere and very modest," murmured my

neighbor, the bulky Rouffignard. "He is very foolish to venture with

ne'er-do-wells of our temper."

"Especially," said Montricourt, "as the fellow's a great nuisance."

"Well, then, messieurs, Rochebrune's suggestion being adopted, who's to

begin?"

"Parbleu! yourself, Dupreval; the honor is yours."

"Very good. Then it will be my right-hand neighbor's turn, and so on

around the table."

Dupreval emptied his glass, to put himself into a more suitable

disposition for telling his story. Meanwhile, I watched Dumouton, who

had entirely stripped one ornament and persistently kept his hands out

of sight under the table. As some of the guests continued to converse,

Dupreval struck his glass with his knife and cried:

"Silence, messieurs!"

Everybody ceased talking, took a drink, and prepared to listen to the

host, who began thus:

"At that time, messieurs, I was a third-class clerk to a solicitor, and

my pockets were seldom well lined. My father gave me six francs a week

for pocket money; as you may imagine, my diversions were very few, and I

often spent my whole allowance on Sunday; then I was obliged either to

procure my amusement gratis during the week, or to abstain entirely; the

latter alternative, I believe, is disagreeable at any age.

"One fine day--or rather, one evening--I was at the play, and found

myself behind two very pretty grisettes--there were grisettes in those

days; unluckily, they are now vanishing from the face of the earth, like

poodles and melon raisers. For my part, I regret them exceedingly--not

the melon raisers or the poodles, but the grisettes; they are replaced

nowadays by lorettes, who can't hold a candle to them. Our friend

Dumouton, by the way, has done a very amusing little sketch on

grisettes, lorettes, and fillettes, which I will request him to repeat

to you in a moment, and----"

"Question!"

"The speaker is not keeping to his subject."

"That is true, messieurs. Excuse me.--Well, I was at the play, behind

two grisettes, and I had only three sous in my pocket; that was all I

had left after buying my ticket, and it was Monday. Such was my plight.

However, that didn't prevent me from making eyes at one of the damsels,

whose saucy face attracted me. For her part, she responded promptly to

my glances; the firing was well maintained on both sides, and seemed to

promise a very warm engagement. I opened a conversation, and she

answered. The young ladies were not prudes, by any means; they laughed

heartily at every joke that I indulged in, and I indulged in a good

many; I was in funds in that respect only.

"It was summer, and the theatre was very warm. Several times my

grisettes had wiped their faces, crying:

"'Dieu! how hot it is!'

"'How I would like a good, cool drink!'

"'That's so; something cool and refreshing would go to the spot, pure or

with water.'

"When they expressed themselves in such terms, I made a pretence of

looking about the house, humming unconcernedly. With my three sous, I

could have given each of them a stick of barley sugar, but that is

hardly refreshing. I remember that an orange girl persisted in walking

back and forth in front of us, and in holding her basket under my nose,

and that I trod on her foot so hard that the poor girl turned pale and

hurried away, shrieking.

"At last the play came to an end, and my grisettes went out; I went with

them, still talking, but taking care to fall behind when we passed a

cafe. They did not live together; and when I was alone with the one to

whom I was particularly attentive, I obtained a rendezvous for the next

day, at nightfall.

"When the next day came, I was no richer, for my office mates were, for

the most part, as hard up as I. However, I was faithful to my

appointment, all the same, still with my three sous in my pocket.

"My charmer was on time. I walked her about the streets at least two

hours. She remarked from time to time that she was tired; but, instead

of replying, I would passionately squeeze one of her hands, and the heat

of my love made her forget her fatigue. Unluckily, she lived with an old

relation--of which sex I don't know; I do know that that fact made it

impossible for me to go to her room, and I had to leave her at her door.

"The next evening, at dusk, we met again. I had the shrewdness to take

her outside the barrier; it was a superb night, and we strolled along

the new boulevards. I tried to coax her out into the country; she

refused, on the ground that she was tired. She expected me to suggest a

cab, no doubt, but I knew better.

"The next day, another rendezvous. My grisette wanted to go to the

Jardin des Plantes. When we came to Pont d'Austerlitz, I had to spend

two of my three sous, and for tolls, not for refreshment; that seemed

cruel, but there was no alternative. We strolled a long while around

the garden, which is an admirable place for lovers, because some of the

paths are always deserted; my conquest was affable and sentimental, but

I replied all awry to what she said and to the questions she asked. I

was haunted by a secret apprehension; I was thinking about going home,

about Pont d'Austerlitz, which she would certainly insist on crossing

again, as it was the shortest way to her house; and I said to myself: 'I

have only five centimes left. Shall I pay for her and let her go alone?

Shall I make her take another route? Or shall I run across at full speed

and defy the tollman?'--Neither plan seemed to promise well, and you can

imagine that my mind was in a turmoil; so that my young companion kept

saying to me:

"'What on earth are you thinking about, monsieur? You don't answer my

questions; you seem to be thinking about something besides me. You're

not very agreeable this evening.'

"I did my utmost to be talkative, attentive, and gallant; but, in a few

minutes, my preoccupation returned. At last my grisette, irritated by my

behavior, declared that she wanted to go home, that she was tired of

walking, that I had walked her about so much the last two or three days

that her heels were swollen as badly as when she used to have

chilblains. So she dragged me away toward the exit. That was the

decisive moment. I began to talk about going home another way that I

knew about, which was much pleasanter than the way we had come. But my

grisette took her turn at not listening, and when we were out of the

garden, and I tried to lead her to the left, she hung back.

"'Why, where are you going?' she cried.

"'I assure you that it's much pleasanter and shorter by the other

bridge.'

"'You're joking, I suppose! the idea of going back through narrow

streets instead of the boulevards! Monsieur is making fun of me!'

"I couldn't possibly prevail upon her; she dropped my arm and made

straight for the bridge.

"'Well!' I said to myself, with a sigh; 'there's nothing left for me to

do.'

"I followed her. When she reached the tollman, I tossed my last sou on

the table and said to my charmer:

"'Go on, I will follow you.'

"She crossed the bridge, supposing that some natural cause detained me a

moment. Meanwhile, I gazed at the river, considering whether I would

jump in and swim to the other bank. But I'm not a fine swimmer, and I

did not feel as brave as Leander, although the Seine is narrower than

the Hellespont. Instead of swimming, I ran along the quays to the next

bridge; when I got there, I was almost out of breath, but that did not

prevent me from running across the bridge, then back along the Seine to

the beginning of Boulevard Bourdon. But that is quite a long distance,

and, although I ran almost all the way, it took quite a long time. I

arrived at last, but I looked in vain for my inamorata; I could not find

her. Tired of waiting for me, or piqued by my failure to overtake her,

she had evidently gone home alone.

"The next day, I went to our usual place of meeting, but she did not

come. I waited there for her several days--to no purpose; and at last I

wrote to her, requesting a reply. She sent me a very laconic one: 'You

made a fool of me,' she wrote; 'and after walking my legs off for four

days, as if I was an omnibus horse, you left me in the middle of a

bridge. I've had enough of it, monsieur; you won't take me to walk any

more.'--And thus that intrigue came to an end; for I never saw my

grisette again; but I haven't forgotten the adventure. Let it serve you

as a lesson, messieurs, if you should ever happen to find yourselves

with only three sous in your pocket."

III

BLIND-MAN'S-BUFF.--AT THE WINDOWS.--IN A BALLOON

Dupreval's tale amused the company immensely. Monsieur Dumouton, who was

better able, perhaps, than any of the rest of us, to understand our

friend's plight, exclaimed:

"Oh! that's true! it's very dangerous to take any chances in a lady's

company, if you haven't any money in your pocket! It's a thing I always

avoid."

It was young Balloquet's turn. The bulky, fair-haired man opened his

mouth as if he were going to sing an operatic aria, and began:

"Dupreval has just told us of an adventure which was not a _bonne

fortune_, messieurs, for it didn't end happily for him; I propose to

tell you of one that can fairly be called a genuine A-Number-One _bonne

fortune_. It happened at a _fete champetre_ given by a friend of mine at

his charming country place in the outskirts of Sceaux."

"Don't name the place," Monsieur Faisande interrupted; "there's no need

of it, and it might betray the originals of your story."

"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Faisande, you seem to be terribly afraid of

disclosures. Is it because you fear your excellent wife may be

involved?"

The Treasury clerk turned as red as a poppy.

"I don't know why you indulge in jests of that sort, Monsieur

Balloquet," he cried; "it's very bad taste, monsieur!"

"Then let me speak, monsieur, and don't keep putting your oar into our

conversation; your mock-modest air doesn't deceive anybody. People who

make such a show of decorum, and who are so strict in their language,

are often greater libertines and rakes than those whose language they

censure."

Monsieur Faisande's cheeks changed from the hue of a poppy to that of a

turnip; but he made no reply, and looked down at his plate, which led us

to think that Balloquet had hit the mark. The latter resumed his story:

"As I was saying, I was at a magnificent open-air fete. There were some

charming women there, and among them one with whom I had been in love a

long while, but had been able to get no further than to whisper a

burning word in her ear now and then; for she had a husband, who, while

he was not jealous, was always at his wife's side. The dear man was very

much in love with his wife, and bored her to death with his caresses.

Sometimes he forgot himself so far as to kiss her before company, which

was execrable form; and by dint of sentimentality and caresses he had

succeeded in making himself insufferable to her. Yes, messieurs, this

goes to prove what I said just now to Fouvenard: women don't like to be

loved too much. _Excess in any direction is a mistake_. Moreover,

nothing makes a man look so foolish as a superabundance of love. Well,

while we were playing games and strolling about the gardens, Monsieur

Three-Stars--I'll call him Three-Stars, which will not compromise

anybody, I fancy--kissed his wife again before the whole company; and

she flew into a rage and made a scene with him, forbidding him to come

near her again during the evening. The fond husband was in despair, and

cudgelled his brains to think of some means of becoming reconciled to

his wife. After long consideration, he took me by the arm and said:

"'My dear Monsieur Balloquet, I believe I have found what I was looking

for.'

"'Have you lost something?' said I.

"'You don't understand. I am trying to think of some way to compel my

wife to let me kiss her, and it is very difficult, because she is cross

with me now. But this is what I have thought of: I am going to suggest a

game of blind-man's-buff, and I will ask to be _it_, on condition that I

may kiss the person I catch, when I guess who it is. When I catch my

wife, be good enough to cough, so as to let me know; in that way I shall

not make a mistake, and she'll have to let me kiss her.'

"I warmly applauded Monsieur Three-Stars's plan; his idea of

blind-man's-buff seemed to me very amusing. He made his proposition, it

was accepted, and he was blindfolded. Now, while he groped his way

about, the rest of the party thought it would be a good joke to leave

him there and go to another part of the garden. I escorted Madame

Three-Stars. The garden was very extensive, with grottoes and labyrinths

and some extremely dark clumps of shrubbery. I will not tell you just

where I took the lady, but our walk was quite long; and when we returned

to our starting point, the poor husband was still groping about with the

handkerchief over his eyes. When he heard us coming, he hurried toward

us; I coughed,--to give him that satisfaction was the least I could

do,--he named his wife and kissed her. Then, delighted with his idea, he

replaced the handkerchief over his eyes, requesting to be _it_ again.

We acceded to his wish, and he was _it_ three times in succession. That,

messieurs, is what I call a _bonne fortune_."

"Your story is exactly after the style of Boccaccio!" laughed

Montricourt.--"If this goes on, messieurs, we shall be able to publish a

sequel to the _Decameron_."

"It's Fouvenard's turn."

The hairy gentleman passed his hand across his forehead, saying:

"I am searching my memory, messieurs. I have had so many adventures! I

am afraid of mixing them up. You see, it's like calling on a man for a

ballad who has written a great many; he doesn't know any, because he

knows too many. I beg you to be good enough to leave me till the last;

meanwhile, I will disentangle my memories and try to select something

choice, with a Regency flavor."

"All right! Fouvenard passes the bank on to Monsieur Reffort.--Go on,

Reffort."

Reffort was a personage who had not said four words during the dinner,

but had contented himself with laughing idiotically at what the others

said. He was the possessor of a more than insignificant face, and turned

as red as fire when he was addressed. He rolled his eyes over the

dessert, played with his knife, and murmured at last:

"Faith! messieurs, it embarrasses me to speak, because--I must admit

that--on my word of honor, it has never happened to me."

"What's that, Reffort? It has never happened to you! What in the devil

do you mean by that? Explain yourself."

"Can it be that Monsieur Reffort is as a man what Jeanne d'Arc was as a

woman?" cried Rouffignard. "In that case, I demand that he be cast in a

mould, that a statuette be made of him and sold for the benefit of the

Societe de Temperance."

Roars of laughter arose on all sides. Monsieur Reffort laughed with the

rest, albeit with a somewhat annoyed air, and rejoined:

"You go too far, messieurs; I didn't mean what you think, but simply

that I am not a man for love intrigues. I shouldn't know how to go about

it; and, faith! when my thoughts turn to love, there are priestesses of

Venus, and----"

"Very good, Monsieur Reffort; we don't ask for anything more; we'll call

that _bonnes fortunes_ for cash. Next."

"Messieurs," said the gentleman who came next, in a sentimental tone,

"the best day of my life was that on which I stole a garter at a wedding

party, at Pres-Saint-Gervais--I made a mistake as to the leg; but I saw

such a pretty one, and took it for the bride's. In fact, I didn't want

to go out from under the table. Unluckily, that charming limb belonged

to a lady of fifty; but she was kind enough to make me a present of her

garter."

"And you have worn it on your heart ever since?"

"No; but I have kept it under glass. That's my only _bonne fortune_!"

"I, messieurs," said a young man, who sat next to the last speaker, "was

shut up once for twelve hours in a closet full of bottles of liqueurs;

and when my mistress was able at last to release me, I was dead drunk; I

had tasted everything, to pass the time away. Finding me in that

condition, the lady was obliged to send for a messenger, who took me on

his back like a bale, and on the way downstairs let me roll down one

whole flight. Since then I have had a horror of _bonnes fortunes_."

"Your turn, Raymond."

"I once fell in love with a lady who roomed opposite me. As you can

imagine, I was always hanging out of my window. She was very pretty, but

she didn't reply to my glances; indeed, she often left her window when I

appeared at mine. But I wasn't discouraged by that. I followed her

everywhere: in the street, in omnibuses, to the theatre; I wrote her

twenty notes, but she didn't answer them, and my persistence seemed to

offend her rather than to touch her heart. As I could think of nothing

else to do, I determined one day to try to make her jealous. I

interviewed one of the damsels to whom Monsieur Reffort alluded, and,

for a consideration, she came to my rooms one afternoon. I placed her on

my balcony, so that she might be in full view; I urged her to behave

decently, and retired to await the result of my experiment.

"My neighbor appeared at her window. It was impossible for her not to

see my damsel. I was enchanted, and said to myself: 'She sees that I am

with another, and she will surely be annoyed.' Moreover, the young woman

I had hired was very pretty and might pass for a creditable conquest,

having, in accordance with my orders, clothed herself in a very stylish

gown. But imagine my sensations when she began to smoke an enormous

cigar, a genuine panetela! I tried to remonstrate; she answered that it

was good form. I had become resigned to the cigar, when she suddenly

called out to a young man who passed along the street: 'Monsieur Ernest,

don't expect me to pose for you as Venus to-morrow. I am posing here,

where I get double pay, and don't have to be all naked as I do at your

studio, where I'm always catching cold in the head and other places.'

"Judge of my despair! my neighbor must have heard, for she laughed till

she cried. You can imagine that I dismissed my _poseuse_ instantly. But

see what strange creatures women are! For the next few days, I was so

depressed and shamefaced that I dared not show myself at my window.

Well! then it was that my neighbor deigned at last to answer one of my

notes, and I became the happiest of men."

"We might call that the 'window intrigue.'--Now, Roland."

Monsieur Roland was a young blade with enormous whiskers, and all the

self-possession and _frou-frou_ of a commercial traveller. He threw out

his chest when he began to speak.

"I adored a lady who resisted my advances, messieurs. One day I

succeeded in inducing her to go up in a balloon with me. When we were

once in the air, I said to her: 'My dear love, if you continue to be

cruel, I'll cut a hole in the balloon, and it will be all over with both

of us.'--My charmer ceased to resist me, and I assure you, messieurs,

that it's very pleasant to make love among the clouds."

"I call for an encore for that."

"And I am wondering whether Roland always has a balloon at his disposal,

already inflated, to enable him to triumph over women who try to resist

him."

"What, messieurs! do you doubt the truth of my story?"

"On the contrary, it is delicious," said Montricourt; "I am simply

trying to think of one that would be worthy to serve as a pendant to

your balloon."