if she spoke the purest French, her conversation would probably seem
less amusing; there are so many people who attract by their bad
qualities.
"Sometimes the grisette ventures to give an evening party. When she is
in the mood, she will invite as many as seven people. On such occasions,
the bed does duty as a divan, the blinds as benches, the cooking stove
as a table, and the lamp from the staircase is placed on the mantel to
take the place of a chandelier. Punch is brewed in a soup tureen, and
tea in a saucepan; they drink from egg cups, there is one spoon for
three persons, and the hostess's shawl serves as a table cloth and as a
napkin for all the company; all of which does not prevent the guests
from laughing and enjoying themselves; for the most genuine enjoyment is
not that which costs the most. This is not a new maxim, but it is very
consoling to those who are not favored by fortune."
As he said this, Dumouton glanced down at himself, with a profound sigh.
But encouraged, I doubt not, by a glimpse of the ends of his cravat, by
that profusion of linen, to which he was not accustomed, he speedily
resumed his smiling expression and continued his discourse.
"I come now, messieurs, to the last division of my trilogy, the
_lorettes_, who are grisettes of the front rank--the _tip-toppers_! By
that I mean that they are sought by the fashionable lions, the dandies,
the Jockey Club--in a word, by those gentry who have a liking for
spending money freely with women, and who have the means to do it.
"The lorettes live in the Chaussee d'Antin, the Nouvelle-Athenes, the
Champs-Elysees, the quarter of _sport_, of the _turf_, or, if you
prefer, of the horse traders. They are found, too, in quite large
numbers, in the new streets. When a fine house is completed--that is to
say, when the stairs are in place, so that the different floors are
accessible, the proprietor lets apartments to lorettes, _to dry the
walls_, as they say. They hire dainty suites, freshly decorated;
everyone knows that they won't pay their rent, but the rooms are let to
them because they draw people to the house; they attract other tenants;
not honest bourgeois--nay, nay!--but fashionable young men, rich old
bachelors, and sometimes men with stylish carriages.
"By the way, the lorette is exceedingly frank in this respect. One of
them was inspecting a beautiful suite on Rue Mazagran, when the
concierge, who probably did not know whom he was dealing with, was
simple enough to tell her the price, repeating several times that she
could not have it for less than fifteen hundred francs. Irritated by his
persistence, the lorette stared at him as if he were a monstrosity,
exclaiming:
"'Look you, monsieur, who do you think you're talking to? What
difference does it make to me what the rent is, when I never pay?'
"The lorette dresses stylishly and coquettishly; she leaves a trail of
perfume behind her. She has magnificent bouquets, and her gloves are the
object of much solicitude. At a distance, one might take her for a lady
of rank and fashion; but to hear her speak is fatal, and the illusion
vanishes at once, her language being infinitely less pure than the
polish on her boots.
"The lorette seeks to eclipse the grisette, whom she pretends to look
down upon, but to whom she is vastly inferior, none the less. She has no
lover, she has keepers. And yet she is not a kept woman, for such a one
sometimes remains a long while with the same _monsieur_, whereas the
lorette is constantly changing.
"The grisette likes young men; the lorette prefers men of mature years.
"The Hippodrome and the Cirque des Champs-Elysees are the resorts which
the lorettes particularly affect. In the afternoon, they go thither to
admire the bold horse-men jumping fences, or the women driving chariots
in the ring. The Hippodrome audience being, as a rule, frivolous,
dandified, and fashionable,--especially on weekdays,--these ladies are
almost certain to make their expenses.
"In the evening, they go to admire Baucher; they jump up and down in
ecstasy on their benches when Auriol makes some new hair-raising plunge.
The lorette is never tired of repeating to her _spouse_--for so she
calls her friend of the moment--that she knows nothing more beautiful
than a horse.
"The lorette gives evening parties, where there are always many men and
very few women. All games are played there, from lotto to lansquenet.
These ladies are passionately fond of gambling; but when they take their
places beside a green cloth, they tell you frankly that they propose to
win; it is for you to take your measures accordingly. One day, at a game
of lansquenet, the banker being a pretty lorette, someone discovered
that she was cheating, and she was charged with it; far from denying the
charge, she began to laugh, and retorted: 'Mon Dieu! what does it matter
whether I take your money this way or some other way?'
"The lorette knows nothing but money; don't continue to show yourself in
her presence when your purse is empty, for her love will surely have
followed your cash. She is not the woman to pawn her clothes in order to
have a jollification with you.
"The lorette has handsome furniture, but she doesn't pay for it, any
more than she pays her rent. If you take her to dine at a restaurant,
she will begin by playing the prude. She will declare that she isn't
hungry; she doesn't like this or that; one thing makes her sick, another
is abhorrent to her. But in the end she gets tipsy and has indigestion.
"The proper method, in my opinion at least, is to take a lorette for a
day, a grisette for a month, and a fillette for life, when you meet one
who has found time during the day to dress herself and arrange her hair,
to do her housework, eat her breakfast, watch her soup kettle, and tie
her shoestrings; for then you will have discovered a phoenix, or the
eighth wonder of the world.
"To sum up, the fillette craves sentiment, the grisette pleasure, the
lorette money.
"I venture to hope, messieurs, that you will accept this superficial
study of women instead of a _bonne fortune_; especially as it is a very
long while since fortune has been kind [_bonne_] to me; and, unluckily,
I have had no leisure to think of love making, so that I could tell you
nothing worthy of a hearing after all that I have had the pleasure of
listening to."
VI
MONSIEUR FOUVENARD'S _BONNE FORTUNE_.--THE GINGERBREAD WOMAN
Everybody had listened with pleasure to Monsieur Dumouton's study of
womankind. Only Monsieur Faisande, without a word, left his seat and
disappeared while the author was talking. The disappearance of the
Treasury clerk did not grieve us overmuch, nor did it interfere with our
drinking and laughing and saying whatever came into our heads. But as
Balloquet seemed to possess some private information concerning that
modest personage, I determined to question him on the subject; for I
was anxious to know whether I was mistaken in my conjectures, and
whether I owed Monsieur Faisande an apology for the evil thoughts of him
that had come to my mind.
Fouvenard was the only one of the party who had not yet narrated his
little adventure. Dupreval, our host, turned to that gentleman, whose
features, the nose alone excepted, were buried beneath the wilderness of
beard, moustache, whiskers, and eyebrows, which invaded his face and
threatened to transform it into a wig.
Monsieur Fouvenard passed his hand across his forehead and ran it
through his mane, as he said:
"I have been looking over my catalogue, but I haven't succeeded in
disentangling anything as yet. And so, messieurs, I propose to tell you
the story of my last love affair; it is still quite fresh. It is not my
last _bonne fortune_, but it is the most entertaining, I think, of the
later ones; you may judge for yourselves.
"Two or three months ago, having nothing to do one Sunday, and being
unable to endure the day in Paris, which, as you all know, messieurs, is
insufferable on Sunday, especially when it's fine; for then the streets
and boulevards are overrun by a crowd of people with outlandish faces,
walking arm in arm, four or five and sometimes six in a row, and making
it as tiresome to walk as it is difficult--in a word, I jumped aboard a
train in the first railway station I came to, without so much as
inquiring where it would take me. I believe I would have travelled a
long distance--to Belgium, perhaps--I was so disgusted with Paris that
Sunday! But the train I took did not go so far; my journey was very
brief, and I soon found myself in the pretty village of Sceaux. When I
say _village_, I am wrong, for Sceaux is a small town; but the instant
that I see trees and fields and green grass, I cannot believe that I am
near a town.
"I left my car, or my diligence,--I am not sure which I was in,--and
walked about at random. The Bal de Sceaux, once so brilliant and
crowded, has lost much of its popularity. Everything has its day,
messieurs! open-air balls as well as great empires, and beauty! The
Vendanges de Bourgogne had ceased to exist. That lively restaurant,
where so many banquets and ultra _chicard_ balls used to be given, and
where the women danced in _tableau vivant_ costume,--a place that owed
its vogue originally to its excellent sheep's trotters,--has closed its
doors; let us hope that it will reopen them. And even the Meridien!--the
Meridien! I will not insult you by asking you if you ever went there!
Who is the man, provided he is ever so little a lady's man, who has not
been to the Meridien, where the private rooms were so well arranged for
congenial parties? Well, messieurs, that charming little restaurant,
which, as you know, was close by here, has also closed its doors. In
fact, everything has been demolished, even the Cadran Bleu. That once
famous resort has vanished from Boulevard du Temple. Upon my word, it is
really heartrending! Where shall we go now to dine, when we have a
pretty woman to entertain? I am grieved to say it, messieurs, but
suitable places are becoming very rare in Paris; one must needs go
_extra muros_ to find silence, secrecy, and all the comforts which add
to the charm of a tete-a-tete; and one has not always the leisure to go
out of Paris.
"Excuse me for indulging in these reflections--I return to my subject. I
had been strolling about Sceaux for some time, and I noticed that those
peasant girls who were dressed coquettishly and arrayed in all their
finery, those, in short, who seemed disposed to dance and enjoy
themselves generally, were leaving the town and going in the direction
of Fontenay-aux-Roses.
"I at once made inquiries of a worthy woman who sold gingerbread, and
who seemed to view with an expression of alarm the general desertion of
the population. By the purchase of a huge gingerbread man for four sous,
for which I paid cash, and by praising her cookery, I gained the
huckster's good will.
"'Where are all these girls going in their Sunday clothes?' I inquired,
bravely attacking my gingerbread man's foot.
"'Mon Dieu! monsieur, as if there was any need of asking! _Pardine!_
they're going to Fontenay, on the pretext that there's a fete there
to-day; and there'll be a little fair, and a man to tumble and play
tricks, and make a fool of himself. As if it wasn't a hundred times
nicer here! As if our ball wasn't a hundred times finer! But they all
have the devil in 'em, and they lead each other on. There's no way to
stop 'em. So you're my first customer to-day; I ain't sold two sous'
worth all day long.'
"'Well, why don't you do as everybody else does? What is there to hinder
you from moving your stall and your gingerbread to Fontenay-aux-Roses?'
"'Oh! monsieur, we folks don't go changing about like that. People have
been used to seeing me here, on this same spot, for thirty years; and if
they should miss me, especially on a Sunday, they'd say: "Why, where in
the world's old Mere Giroux? She must be sick, or dead."--And it would
hurt my trade if folks thought that; because, you see, monsieur, I have
regular customers, although you might not think so. They're folks from
Paris, who always buy stuff of me for their young ones, when they come
to Sceaux. And it don't pay to put our customers out; we can't afford to
lose regular ones when we have any, just to make a few more sous one
day; and I have some, as I tell you.'
"I was about to leave Mere Giroux, who was so proud of having regular
customers, when I saw three girls coming along, arm in arm, hopping
rather than walking. Two of them had the costume and general aspect of
the peasant girls of the neighborhood; they were dressed very
coquettishly, in white gowns, silk aprons, little caps trimmed with lace
and bows of ribbon, and even gloves, messieurs; yes, it's not a rare
thing nowadays, in the outskirts of Paris, on a holiday, to see gloved
peasant girls. They don't use musk as yet, thank God! but with time and
railroads, I feel sure that the women of nature will soon perfume
themselves like cultivated women; and, to tell the truth, it will be an
agreeable change, for they don't smell very sweet as a rule. I ask
Nature's pardon, but it's the truth.
"My two peasants, then, had paid much attention to their costume; but,
for all that, under their fine clothes they were genuine rustics. One
could see that by their arms and feet, by their manners, by their loud
laughter, and by the red blotches with which their faces were covered.
Moreover, those same faces, while they were not ugly, were not specially
attractive, except for their extreme freshness. So that my eyes did not
rest long on those young women; but it was not so with the third member
of their party, although her dress was almost a counterpart of her
companions'.
"You see, it isn't the cap that makes a girl pretty, but the way she
puts it on and wears it; and so it is with the rest of her attire. The
young person who caught my eye was some eighteen years of age; she was
above middle height, slender, graceful, and willowy; for one can see
that, at a glance, in the slightest motion of the body. There was
nothing extraordinary about her features, but the face as a whole
attracted one instantly. She was a blonde, with blue eyes and red lips;
when she laughed, her mouth assumed a delicious expression, in which
innocence and mischief were blended; her teeth were well arranged, and,
while they could not be described as 'pearls set in rose leaves,' as it
is customary to describe a pretty woman's mouth, they were beyond
reproach; her hair, which was slightly tinged with gold, was arranged in
little curls, in the style called, I believe, _a la neige_. In that
respect, there was a notable difference between her and her two
companions, whose hair was glued to their temples in little
heartbreakers. What more can I say? There was an indefinable something
about that girl which indicated that she had not always lived in the
fields. There was a savor of Paris about her; for a woman who never
leaves her village does not acquire the manners, the bearing, the ease,
which contrast so sharply with the awkward accomplishments of the
country.
"My pretty blonde wore a striped lilac and white dress. She also wore a
silk apron; but hers was of a grayish purple which harmonized perfectly
with her gown. Her cap was very simple, but in the best taste, and
perched so daintily on the top of her head that it seemed hardly to
touch it. Her shoes were black, and the feet within them were small,
narrow, and gracefully arched; the leg was small, but not thin, and gave
promise of excellent outlines. You will agree, messieurs, that all this
was well adapted to attract my glances.
"The three girls were passing Mere Giroux, when she detained them.
"'Well, where are you girls going, I'd like to know,' she cried, 'that
you're all rigged up and sail by, all three of you, proud as ortolans,
without so much as bidding me good-day?'
"They stopped at that, and bade the dealer in gingerbread good-morning.
"'Bonjour, Mere Giroux!'
"'It's because we're in a hurry; we're going to Fontenay-aux-Roses.'
"'We're going to dance.'
"'We're going to see the shows, and the animals, and the monkeys.'
"'Mon Dieu! you can see all that here! It ain't worth while to go out of
your way to see monkeys!'
"'Nonsense! it's going to be a lovely fete at Fontenay. You can see for
yourself that everybody's going there.'
"'Everybody's just stupid enough; when one makes a spitball, the rest
would rather be hung than not do as much.'
"'Oh! Mere Giroux! how spiteful you are!'
"'I say, you Dargenettes, do your parents let you go running about the
country like this, without them?'
"'_Pardi!_ nobody'll kidnap us. Besides, Mignonne's with us.'
"'Bless my soul! Mignonne's a fine dragon, ain't she? Why, she's
younger'n you! and she rolls her eye the minute anyone looks at her, as
if it gave her cramp in the stomach.'
"Mignonne was evidently the pretty blonde in the centre, for she
answered at once with a saucy little smile, and a glance at me out of
the corner of her eye; for during this conversation I was still
standing near the gingerbread stall, and still munching my four-sous'
purchase.
"'If I am young, Mere Giroux, that doesn't prevent my keeping an eye on
these girls; for I've been in Paris, and I'm not to be caught.'
"'You, Mignonne! nonsense! You'll be caught sooner than the others, I'll
bet! You're too sugary; you'll melt!'
"'Anyway,' cried the other two, 'do you suppose we're afraid of men?
Why, there's nothing frightful about 'em!'
"'If they'd grow, I'd plant a field of them.'
"Whereupon they roared with laughter; but pretty Mignonne took no part
in it; she pulled her companions away, crying:
"'Au revoir, Mere Giroux! Au revoir!'
"'What! ain't you going to buy as much as a stick of barley sugar, to
suck on the way?'
"'By and by, when we come back; to cool us off.'
"When the girls had gone, the huckster complained more loudly than ever
about the nuisance of the fetes in the neighboring villages. For my
part, I was determined to have another look at the blonde whom they
called Mignonne, but I desired, first of all, to obtain some information
concerning her. I began by buying a huge square of gingerbread, larded
with almonds, while loudly praising what I had already eaten. Mere
Giroux, flattered to the melting point, gazed at me with an expression
that seemed to say:
"'Ah! if all the young men who come to Sceaux only liked gingerbread as
much as this gentleman does!'
"'Mere Giroux,' I said, carefully bestowing my new purchase in my
pocket, 'you seem to know those young women who went by just now?'
"'_Pardi!_ I know everybody in the neighborhood, I do!'
"'Are they farmers' daughters?'
"'Yes, the two dark ones are, the Dargenettes. They're good enough
girls, for all their talk about men; if anybody should go too far with
'em, they'd do good work with their feet and hands and nails, I'll
warrant. They like to fool, but they're virtuous! And then, their father
wouldn't stand any fooling. Old Dargenette's a gardener, and he ain't
very pleasant every day. He fondled his wife with his rake when she
didn't walk straight; and I guess he'd do the same to his daughters, if
they should go astray. Country folk, monsieur, talk a little free
sometimes, but you mustn't judge 'em by that.'
"'And that other girl with them, whom you called Mignonne? She carries
herself as if she had lived in Paris.'
"'Yes, monsieur; so she has. Mignonne's the daughter of honest laboring
people of this town; but she lost her father and mother when she was
very young. Then she caught the fancy of a lady in Paris, and she took
her away and said she'd give her a good education. Mignonne Landernoy
had nobody left but an old aunt, who wa'n't none too rich. So she let
her niece go; the child was twelve years old then. She stayed in Paris
three years. I don't know just what she learned there--to read and write
and do embroidery, and sew on canvas--in short, a lot of useless things
that make a country girl fit for nothing. So, when she came back to her
aunt, she couldn't be made to work in the fields again. _Ouiche!_ she
said it made her back ache!'
"'But why did she come back? Why did she leave the lady who took her to
Paris?'
"'Because the lady died, and then, you see, her heirs didn't choose to
keep the little girl from Sceaux. They began by turning her out of
doors, and Mignonne was very happy to come back to her old aunt.'
"'Has she been to Paris again since?'
"'No; but I don't think it's for lack of wanting to. You can imagine
that she's kept something of the manners she learned from living with
city folks: a way of acting, and little tricks of speech--Oh! she's no
peasant now. Why, mamzelle sets the fashions here! When the other girls
want to make themselves a cap, or an apron, or a neckerchief, they say:
"I'll go and ask Mignonne if this will look well on me, and how to wear
it."--And it's Mignonne here, and Mignonne there! Why, you'd think she
was an oracle, nothing more or less! When Mignonne says: "You mustn't
wear that," or: "You mustn't walk on your toes like that," or: "You
mustn't dance on that leg," you needn't be afraid they'll do it. And
then, as Mamzelle Mignonne can read novels, she knows lots of stories
and adventures, you see. So, when she's talking, the peasant girls
prick up their ears, like my donkey does when he feels frisky. Why,
those Dargenettes are as proud as peacocks because Mignonne agreed to go
to Fontenay-aux-Roses with them!'
"'But what does the girl do here, as she doesn't work in the fields?'
"'_Dame!_ she makes over dresses, and makes caps for the other girls;
she's the town milliner, but her poor aunt has only just enough for the
two of 'em. And what I can't forgive the girl for is refusing Claude
Flaquart, a good match for her, who was willing to marry her, for all
she didn't have a sou. Claude Flaquart was mad over her. You see, she's
a pretty little thing--and then, her affected ways are sure to turn a
fool's head.'
"'You say she refused him?'
"'Yes, monsieur! Think of refusing a man who owns a field and a
vineyard, three cows, two calves, rabbits, and geese! What in God's name
does she want, anyway? a lord? a potentate?'
"'What reason did she give for refusing such a fine match?'
"'Reasons! a lot she cared for reasons! She didn't like him; that's all
the reason she gave! She said he was a lout, and that he was lame. As if
a man with cows and calves could walk crooked!'
"'Didn't her aunt scold her?'
"'Her aunt's too good-natured--too big a fool, I should say. Claude
Flaquart had his revenge: he married another girl, a head taller than
Mignonne, and he did well. That's what comes o' sending girls to Paris,
when they haven't got any money to set themselves up in business there.
Mignonne will make a fool of herself with some fine young buck from
Paris--I'd stake my head on it! and by and by she'll be sighing for
Claude Flaquart's cottage.'
"'I am delighted to have bought some of your gingerbread, Mere Giroux;
it's very fine. When I come to Sceaux again, you will certainly see me.'
"'You're very good, monsieur; so now you're one of my customers; that
adds to my stock. You'd ought to buy some of this with citron, monsieur;
you'd think you was eating oranges.'
"'I'll save that for the next time.'
"I knew enough. I bade her good-morning, and started for
Fontenay-aux-Roses, which is only a quarter of a league from Sceaux."
VII
MADEMOISELLE MIGNONNE
Monsieur Fouvenard paused to take breath, and drank a glass of
champagne; while we waited for him to continue his narrative, which, I
confess, interested me deeply. For some unknown reason, I trembled to
think of that pretty little Mignonne yielding to the seductions of the
narrator, who, in truth, did not seem to me particularly seductive. But
I am not a woman, and it is possible that that Capuchin beard possessed
a fascination which I cannot understand.
"I soon reached Fontenay," he continued; "I had only to follow the crowd
of people headed for the fete. Once there, I said to myself: 'I shall be
very unlucky if I don't find Mignonne.'
"I had been strolling about for some time in front of the improvised
stalls on a sort of square, when I discovered my three damsels, still
arm in arm, halting in front of all the curiosities, games, and open-air
shows, and giving full vent to the natural merriment of their age,
intensified by Mignonne's satirical comments.