"I was sure that you would ask me that!"
And she began to laugh. In truth, my question was most idiotic. But I am
very prone to say such things. I am always conscious of it afterward,
which is a little late. For fear of making a fool of myself again, I did
not say another word. Thereupon my partner asked me:
"Have you spoken with Monsieur Sordeville again?"
"Yes, madame."
"And he invited you to his house?"
"Yes, madame."
"What did I tell you? We guessed as much by your radiant expression
just now."
I knew then the meaning of the glance they exchanged when I approached
them. But I did not like that: "_We_ guessed as much"; that identity of
thoughts and sentiments was by no means pleasing to me. I have always
noticed that the women who tell each other everything, their inmost
thoughts and the most secret impulses of their hearts, never have
anything left to confide to their lovers. With them they act, but do not
lay bare their hearts. Friendship is almost always injurious to love.
That is not my understanding of a profound sentiment, a genuine
attachment.--But what am I moralizing about?
I took the indefatigable Frederique back to her friend. The handsome
dandy was no longer there. I heard Madame Sordeville whisper:
"He has gone. He said he was going away; he was furious."
"Really? That doesn't disturb me in the least!"
But my gentleman had not gone. I saw him not far away. If he was jealous
of me, he was sadly astray: I was thinking exclusively of Madame
Sordeville and waiting impatiently for the quadrille, so that I could
talk with her more freely.
That moment arrived at last. I stood up beside my partner; each cavalier
did the same. O blessed moment! What an excellent invention is dancing!
I felt that I must make the most of my opportunity; I told Madame
Sordeville that her husband had invited me to come to their house. She
smiled, but made no reply. I could not rest content with that.
"May I hope to be so fortunate, madame, as to obtain from your lips a
confirmation of the invitation I have received?"
"Whatever my husband does is well done, monsieur, and I can only approve
it."
That was a courteous reply, but nothing more. It seemed as if my fair
partner were distraught. It is never very flattering to one's
self-esteem to have the person to whom one is talking thinking of
something else; and when that person is a woman with whom one is in
love, it is much more mortifying. I was on the point of making a
declaration of love, but it did not pass my lips. Could it be possible
that she was nothing more or less than a coquette who had been amusing
herself at my expense? Nonsense! Had I already forgotten all that she
had done for me that evening? Wounded self-esteem often makes us very
unjust. I determined to wait and not to go so fast, either in forming my
judgments, or in my love.
When the dance came to an end, many of the guests prepared to go away.
Madame Sordeville rejoined her friend, who also seemed disposed to
retire. What was there to detain me there? I had permission to call upon
the charming Armantine, and that was all that I could expect.
I left the restaurant. As I passed the rooms where the Bocal wedding
party was still in full blast, I heard a good deal of noise. Was it
merrymaking or quarrelling? Faith! Balloquet must take care of himself;
and I went home and to bed.
XV
A VAGABOND
On the day following that night which I had so well employed, I did not
wake until after noon. I went over in my mind the events of the
preceding evening. When one has done so much and heard so many
anecdotes, one may be pardoned for being a little confused.
Madame Sordeville's pretty face very soon presented itself to my memory.
Now that I was no longer excited by the illusions of the ballroom and
the strains of the music, I tried to determine what sort of woman she
was, and whether I could reasonably hope for success if I should make
love to her.
She was pretty, well formed, graceful, amiable--yes, and intelligent; at
all events, she possessed that sort of wit that gives sparkle to a
conversation; I could not say as yet whether it had any substantial
foundation. In that respect, women are much more deceitful than men;
they are much more skilful in throwing dust in one's eyes. Too often
the flow of words and bright sallies is only a sort of froth that will
not stand the test of time.
Madame Sordeville was undoubtedly a flirt. It is often said that all
women are; but there are gradations. There are the amiable flirts who
give a pungent flavor to love; there are others who do not give a lover
one moment's peace or rest; and, frankly, a woman who takes pleasure in
tormenting one is a sorry acquaintance. But I had not got to that point;
perhaps the lady in question would never be anything to me, albeit her
husband seemed to be not at all jealous.
The anecdotes that were told at our dinner the day before recurred to my
mind; one of them especially had made a deep impression on me, and I was
surprised that I had forgotten for so long a time that young girl of
Sceaux--that unhappy Mignonne, toward whom Fouvenard had behaved so
abominably. As if it were not enough to abandon her after having made
her a mother, he must needs force her, against her will, into another
man's arms! That was a perfect outrage! The law punishes men for less
than Fouvenard had done--and all because she loved him! Unhappy girl!
and to think that she was on the point of becoming a mother! I simply
must see her, and try to alleviate her misery. Perhaps she was in utter
destitution. He said Rue Menilmontant, No. 80. I determined to go there;
but I hoped that he had lied to us; that his Mignonne did not exist. It
would be too execrable, if it were true.
I rang for my servant, and he appeared. He was a simple-minded fellow,
but trustworthy, I was confident; and as that is the rarest of qualities
in all ranks of society, I kept Pomponne in my service, although he was
very often guilty of the most stupid blunders, and was of such a prying,
inquisitive turn that I often had to reprove him.
Pomponne gave me all that I required for my toilet; but, as he walked
about the room, I noticed that his manner was unusually idiotic, a
symptom which always indicated that he had something to say and did not
know how to go about it. So that it was necessary for me to give him a
lead.
"Have you been making a fool of yourself since yesterday, Pomponne?"
"Me, monsieur! what makes you ask me that? You didn't tell me to, did
you?"
"Why, you don't usually wait for my instructions to do that. Are there
any letters for me?"
"No, monsieur."
"Did anybody call while I was asleep?"
"Call?"
"Yes, call."
"I don't think so, monsieur."
"You don't think so? Aren't you sure?"
"Oh, yes! I am sure."
"What the devil's the matter with you this morning, that you seem so
much more stupid than usual?"
"Why, it seems to me that I'm just the same as usual."
"Come, brush my hair, and be quick about it! It's late."
You must know that Monsieur Pomponne was an excellent hair dresser; that
and his trustworthiness, you see, made him rather a notable personage.
He had studied the trade of hair dressing for some time; he gave it up,
so he told me, because, as he had a fine lot of hair, his head was
constantly used for beginners to practice on, and that got to be rather
tiresome.
"And the love affairs, Pomponne--how do they come on?"
My servant blushed; he was not an accomplished rake, you see.
"Oh, monsieur! I haven't any love affairs!"
"Ah! so you choose to play the close-mouthed lover with me?--What about
the maid-servant of the old gentleman opposite? you haven't made love to
her, you rascal, have you?"
"Oh, monsieur! I may have laughed a little with her; just in a joking
way, that's all."
"We all know what it means to laugh with maid-servants."
"However, I think I'm going to lose her--poor Mademoiselle Rosalie!"
"Is she sick?"
"No, monsieur; I mean that she's probably going to leave the house. She
has discharged her master."
"Discharged her master? You mean that her master has discharged her, of
course?"
"No, monsieur; I give you my word that she told me: 'I don't want any
more of my master; I've given him his papers.'--And she added: 'I said
_zut_! to him.'"
"The deuce! Mademoiselle Rosalie's language is rather decollete, I
should say! Why is she leaving her master? He's rich and a widower--an
excellent place for a servant, especially for one who says _zut_."
"It seems, monsieur, that her master doesn't like to pay her."
"Nonsense! that can't be. My old neighbor is noted for paying promptly
and not having any debts."
"I beg pardon, monsieur: they have had a dispute. You see, Mademoiselle
Rosalie has a funny custom; she gets a commission for everything."
"I don't understand. Doesn't she get any wages?"
"Yes, monsieur; she has three hundred francs."
"Well?"
"Well, that don't make any difference; when she does an errand--for
instance, when her master sends her with a letter to one of his friends,
or anywhere else--well, that's fifteen sous; she charges a commission of
fifteen sous. When she has to wash the windows, it's twenty sous. When
she scrubs, it's twenty-five sous; do you see?"
"Perfectly. So it's just the same as if he hadn't any servant; that's
very convenient!"
"She calls that putting the masters where they belong."
"Just try putting me where I belong! I'll discharge you on the instant."
"However, it seems that Rosalie's master never found any fault with all
that; but the other night he told her to warm his bed; and when she
charged him twelve sous for it the next day, that made him mad. I says
to her: 'I must say, mamzelle, it seems to me, you might warm your
master's bed for nothing!'--'Well, I guess not!' says she; 'he'd get
into the habit of having it done every night!'"
"Peste! there's a servant who will make her way in the world."
"She's making it, monsieur; she tells me that she takes thirty-six
francs to the savings bank every month."
"And her wages are only twenty-five! She has the saving instinct, sure!"
While I was talking with Pomponne, I noticed an odor that was not
customary in my apartments.
"Pomponne," I said abruptly, "have you been smoking this morning?"
"Smoking, monsieur? You know I never smoke."
"But it smells of tobacco here; not of cigars, but of a pipe, and vile
tobacco too."
My servant smiled with an expression which he tried to render cunning,
and said in an undertone, leaning over me:
"I know who it is; it's the other one."
"What other one?"
"The man who's waiting out there, in the reception room."
"What! there's someone waiting for me, and you didn't tell me?"
"Oh! he--he said he wasn't in any hurry."
"And you told me that no one had called!"
"He's not a caller. I heard you say once: 'If that person comes here
again, and I have company, call me at once; don't let him in.'"
I trembled as I began to realize who the visitor was.
"Can it be----" I faltered.
"Yes, monsieur; it's the party named Ballangier--the one who's so free
and easy like, and makes himself so much at home here, just as if he was
in his own house."
I felt as if a heavy weight had settled down on my chest. In an instant
all my cheerful thoughts had vanished. A feeling of depression replaced
them. The presence--the very name--of Ballangier always produced that
effect on me.
"Has this--gentleman been here long?"
"About three-quarters of an hour, monsieur, when you rang."
"Didn't you tell him that I had been at a ball, and that I was likely to
sleep very late?"
"Yes, monsieur, I said all that. But he just sat down and said: 'That's
all the same to me; I've got plenty of time.' And then, he took out a
pipe and lighted it. It was no use for me to say: 'You mustn't smoke
here; my master don't like the smell.'--He sings out: 'I smoke
everywhere! and you can open the windows and burn some _castonnade_.'"
"Show the gentleman in, and leave us. And if anybody should call while
he is here, remember, Pomponne, that I am not at home to anyone."
"Yes, monsieur--as usual."
Pomponne went out, and in a moment the person who was waiting entered my
bedroom.
Ballangier was thirty-four years old; he looked older, because he had
led a riotous life for a long while. Dissipation and debauchery make a
man old prematurely.
Imagine a man of more than ordinary height, who would have had a good
figure if he had not acquired the habit of stooping. A refined, regular
face, aquiline nose, small, heart-shaped mouth, and very black eyes
surmounted by heavy eyebrows; an abundance of hair, once black, but now
gray. All this would have formed an attractive whole, had it not been
spoiled by a pronounced hangdog air. An expression that was impudent
when not made stupid by drink, and manners that were often brutal; in
addition, clothes that were always soiled and often in tatters, and the
gait of a drummer; this rough sketch may serve to convey an impression
of the person who stood before me.
On the present occasion he wore a brown frock-coat that was neither
ripped nor torn. It lacked only two buttons in front, but it was covered
with spots and stains. His black trousers were shockingly muddy, as were
his boots. As for his linen, that was invisible. A frayed black stock
encircled his neck, and he held in his hand a round black hat which
seemed to have had many hard knocks.
When he entered my bedroom, Ballangier removed his pipe from his mouth.
He walked forward, swaying his hips, nodded to me with a smile, and
stretched himself out in an easy-chair, saying:
"Here I am! How goes it, Charles?"
"Very well, thanks."
"It seems that you had a bit of a spree last night, and you've had a
good snooze this morning. You do right to enjoy yourself. It's such good
fun to spree it! I'd like to do nothing else, myself."
"I should say that you had done little else thus far."
"Bah! bagatelles! To make things hum, a fellow must have the needful.
Everything's so dear to-day! Those villains of wine merchants and
restaurant keepers won't give credit any more!"
"They are wise."
"Why are they wise?"
"Because you have run up bills more than once that would never have been
paid if I hadn't paid them."
"Who says I wouldn't have paid my debts? But a fellow must have time!
Why are they in such a hurry?"
"You make me blush for you, Ballangier! Am I the person for you to make
such speeches to?"
"Well, what's the matter now? Ain't I to be allowed to speak?"
"You might at least save yourself the trouble of lying to me, who know
you too well! and who know what your conduct has always been! When a man
who has no income desires to meet his obligations, he says to himself:
'I'll work and earn money.'--For, as I have told you a hundred times,
there's no other way to obtain an honorable position in the world. You
refuse to understand that everybody on this earth has to work, from the
smallest to the greatest, from the humblest clerk to the highest
functionary, from the artisan to the artist. The very rich men whose lot
you envy--for the idle and lazy, the people who do nothing, naturally
envy the lot of the rich--those who have great wealth have to busy
themselves with investing it, managing their property, overlooking the
conduct of the people they employ, regulating their expenses; and if
they wish to retain their fortune, I assure you they don't pass their
whole life enjoying themselves."
Ballangier lay back in his chair, shook the ashes out of his pipe, and
looked at me with a bantering air, as he rejoined:
"What work have you, who preach so eloquently, ever done? What is your
employment? I don't know what it is, but I don't think it's very
wearisome."
I could not restrain an indignant gesture, for the man's ingratitude was
revolting to me; he owed everything to me! But I soon grew calm again;
there was one thought before which my anger vanished, and I replied
quietly:
"In the first place, I was justified in not taking up any profession, as
my father left me fifteen thousand francs a year."
"I don't say that you did wrong; I am not blaming you, my dear fellow,
but, that being the case, I wasn't so far out of the way, was I?"
"I beg your pardon. Be good enough to listen to me. Although I had some
fortune, I began at once to study law, in order to become an advocate.
Some time after, having a passion for the arts, I studied music,
painting, and sculpture, in turn; then I turned to poetry, I wrote a
poem--a bad one, perhaps, but I devoted my best energies to it, none the
less. So you see that I have done something; and if I should lose now
what money I still have, I could make a living honestly, and without
assistance, with the small talents I have acquired. Can you say as much,
you who have nothing, no future prospects, but have never been willing
to do anything or to learn anything? who, instead of remaining in the
sphere in which you were born, have plunged into a vice-ridden circle,
and acquired the tastes and habits and manners of people who are cast
out from all respectable society?"
"What's that? what's that? I'm a cabinetmaker! Isn't that a respectable
trade? Anyone would think, to hear you, that I worked nights--on the
dust heaps!"
"Oh! I don't despise any trade, monsieur. I esteem every man whose
behavior is honorable. The mechanic, the artisan, the day laborer, are
all entitled to my esteem and consideration when they are honest and
upright. I say again, there is no despicable trade; the vicious, lazy,
idle people, the drunken debauchees, no matter to what rank in life they
belong, are the ones whom we should look upon with contempt and shame.
You claim to be a mechanic, but you lie. You are nothing, neither
cabinetmaker nor anything else, because you will not do anything,
because work is a burden and a bore to you, because you have acquired
the habit of passing your time in wine shops and dance halls, or in
vile dens of debauchery, where you have associated yourself with
wretches who are the offscourings of society! And at thirty-four years
of age, you continue this line of conduct! Ah! you are incorrigible;
that is evident!"
Ballangier threw his pipe on the floor, exclaiming angrily:
"Damnation! I'm sick of this sort of thing! If I am incorrigible, I
don't quite see why you preach this sermon at me!"
"I am entitled to do it; if you had followed my advice, listened to my
entreaties, you would not be where I find you now. Furthermore, if my
sermons displease you, why do you come here? I told you not to. Do I not
send you regularly every three months the allowance that I have
consented to make you, although, as you well know, I am under no
obligation to do it? Only a fortnight ago, I went myself and handed your
quarterly payment to your concierge."
"That's just what I don't want you to do! He kept half of it, the
miserly old screw!"
"Kept it! You told me yourself that he was an honest man; and you say
that he kept money belonging to you!"
"He claimed that I owed him for loans, and food, and carrying
letters--mere trifles!"
"If you owed him, you should pay him."
"I'd have paid him later; he had no right to pay himself. Oh! I know
the law, don't I? You ought to know about it, as you studied to be an
advocate."
"What do you want to-day? Why did you come here?"
"I wanted to tell you that I am going to move! I can't stay in a house
where the concierge has no sense of delicacy. By the way, you haven't a
glass of anything to give me, have you? I came out without my breakfast
this morning; I've done a good deal of running around, and it makes a
man hollow. Come, Charlot, be a good fellow! Don't scowl at Fanfinet!
You know that I'm a good friend."
I made no reply, but opened a cupboard containing several bottles of
different liqueurs. I took out one of them and a small glass, and placed
them in front of Ballangier; who instantly pounced on the bottle and
filled the glass to the brim, saying:
"Won't you drink with me?"
"No; I never drink liqueur in the morning."
"As you please; there's no accounting for tastes. You are very delicate,
you are; for my part, I'd drink a goblet of rum without winking. This is
anisette--a lady's cordial! sweet as sugar! Never mind, it's not bad."
"What are you doing now, Ballangier? Are you working anywhere? Come,
tell me frankly."
"I'm going to tell you just how it is. As if I could conceal anything
from you! I always pour out my troubles on your breast."
"Why did you come here to-day?"
"I'll tell you all about it. But haven't you something a little stiffer
to give me? Your anisette makes me sick at my stomach. Tell me where it
is; don't disturb yourself."
"I have nothing else to give you; moreover, I don't choose to give you
anything else. If I listened to you, you would drink yourself drunk
here. It's quite enough that you should take the liberty to smoke; you
know perfectly well that I don't like it."
"People smoke in the most select society."
"Enough of this, monsieur! Why did you come here in spite of my
prohibition?"
"Oh! monsieur--what a tone! We seem to be in an infernal humor to-day,
monseigneur! Luckily, I'm not easily frightened."
I strove to keep down my irritation; I stood in front of my mirror and
arranged my cravat, then finished dressing myself. Ballangier, seeing
that I paid no heed to him, poured out another glass of anisette; then,
trying to assume a piteous tone, he mumbled:
"I know well enough that I don't amount to much, that I've often done
foolish things. That's true; but, after all, youth must have its fling;
mine seems to last a good while, but whose fault is it? And it's no time
to treat me like a dog, just when I've made up my mind to turn over a
new leaf, to straighten myself out and be sensible!"
He paused and glanced at me; but I did not say a word, and he
continued:
"Yes, this time, I have reflected seriously. As you said just now, I am
no longer young, I must think of my future; and an opportunity is
offered me--an affair that would suit me to a T. I have spoken to you
about Morillot--a good fellow, who's in the cabinetmaking line; he's no
ne'er-do-well, but a worker; and I confess that if I'd listened to him,
I'd be in better case than I am. Well, Morillot has gone back to
Besancon, where he came from. He always said to me: 'When I have a place
for you, I'll write and you can come.'--Well, he's just written to me,
and he says that, if I choose to come, he's got just what I want; and
that, if I behave myself, I'll soon be able to set up for myself at
Besancon. I came here to tell you that."
I listened to Ballangier without interrupting him. I did not know
whether I ought to believe him, he had deceived me so often! It was no
easy matter to read his face; he could assume any expression he chose;
he could even weep, when he thought that would advance his schemes.
"If this Morillot has really made you such a proposition, why don't you
go?" I asked at last.
"Ah! you're a good one, you are! That's easy enough to say. But I don't
want to go to Besancon dressed like this--all in rags; that would give
people a bad opinion of me at the outset. If a man's hide isn't
somewhere near decent--you know what fools folks are! And then the
journey; and then, I shan't get paid as soon as I arrive. In fact, I
haven't a sou, as that rascally concierge kept almost the whole of what
you gave him for me. And, anyway, fifty francs a month ain't a fortune!
A man can't go far with that!"
"A man can live with that; and if you chose to work, you could have
everything you need. How many poor women who pass their days sewing, and
sit up half the night to add a few sous to their day's pay, don't earn
as much as this sum that seems to you too small! But do you forget all
that I have done for you? I have tried every possible means of bringing
you back to a respectable mode of life. The more money I give you, the
more you spend in those dens of iniquity where you pass your life. I got
tired at last of supporting your vices; and I still do too much for
you."
"Come! come! let's not get excited! It's not worth while to talk about
the past. What's gone by is wiped out. To-day, to replenish my wardrobe,
to pay for my journey and incidental expenses, and to keep me till I get
paid for my work, I need--_dame!_ I need fully four hundred francs. Oh!
I know it's like pulling out a tooth, and that I've cost you a lot of
money already; but this will be the last time; and you wont hear of me
again. I'll settle at Besancon; they say Franche-Comte is a pleasant
country; at all events, I can be happy anywhere."